


Go Down the Rabbit Hole

by Bidawee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Playboy Mansion, Camming, Coercion, Contracts, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Love Bombing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Photographer Auston, Playmate Mitch, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-11-18 12:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: He’ll admit, he gets used to the starry-eyed models that look just like him. The ones who pack up and leave in three months or sign their soul to a deal that sounds too good to be true. He likes to think they find solace in one another.Setting low expectations is how you survive. Patty will come by bi-monthly and remind him to keep his head up. He’s fine with that. Used to it, really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a good idea here but I'm not a master at execution so hang tight. This is a gift for my bestie Ally who's the mastermind behind it all. Love you lots dear, hope you enjoy this!  
> Warnings better explained in the end notes.

His life is simple. When he tells friends and family that he’s a photographer people have in their minds jobs in the Malibu, mopping up the sunshine over the shutter release of his camera. They don’t realize how he bores himself talking about his professions; can’t even finish a sentence without yawning. There isn’t a thing he could say about photography that’d make all the schooling worth it.

He’ll admit, he gets used to the starry-eyed models that look just like him. The ones who pack up and leave in three months or sign their soul to a deal that sounds too good to be true. He likes to think they find solace in one another.

Setting low expectations is how you survive. Patty will come by bi-monthly and remind him to keep his head up. He’s fine with that. Used to it, really.

Until he isn’t. 

 

Auston’s salivating at that first email from Patty. He almost doesn’t believe the subject line. It’s something out of his wildest dreams.

To make a long story short, Muzz got the flu and they’re short a photographer to take pictures for Playboy’s subscriber collection. It’s something bigger than he’s ever been assigned before, both in studio or not.

He remembers his sister collecting vintage Playboy magazines back when he still lived at home. She hid them in her bottom drawer underneath her graduation cap where she thought no one would find them. Inside were images of men in every compromising position under the sun. A temple to sex, toasting to the nude bodies of the world’s upcoming models in an age before social media giants gulped them up.

Needless to say, the magazines weren’t for him: one curious swipe did him in. Seeing the website advertisements again brings back the nostalgia even if he doesn’t recognize the pretty faces.

He’s excited to finally be in that group of busybodies but not to a point where he doesn’t do a little research first. Their town’s got a wicked knack for gossip, much of it derogatory but with a couple of gleams of cold hard facts. He can’t say the stories that made it out to see the light of day do the mansion’s residents any favours.

Google’s knowledge panel confirms that the estate they’re working on is indeed large. No one can agree on square mileage. The number of pools jump from two to five. Because it’s a gated property Google maps’ “more images” tab lather most of their love on the hedge embellishments on the outside of the property: Forsythia’s golden bells framing the shrubs in an ornamental display.

The official website is where it’s at. All of the information is kept sequestered under the small membership tab. A waffle icon can be clicked to expand into a set of images. They depict life inside the mansion walls and the building’s great history. When clicked, the photos jump back to the “about us” page. It’s a lengthy clump of text.

The text isn’t without its fair share of problems. His eyes pause at the line “buy us for the complete customer experience” and continue no further. It’s basically how he finds out the place is a glorified porn studio fit with some solid social infrastructure. Nothing is available to the average consumer without purchasing power. It’s all under lock and key, behind the men’s profiles.

From the start, he can tell it’s a spin on the amateur “handheld” adult entertainment industry. The bunnies make it clear that their policy is about prestige. The longer he thinks about it the more sense it makes. On the surge of Instagram influencers and social media profiles, the idea of getting exclusive access to a model probably gets the hounds yapping. The few models that do have social media play the part to the chants of smiley emojis and hearts.

Auston’s eyes are burning by the end of it. He excuses himself from technology for the day, pours himself a glass of lemonade from the fridge, and unwinds.

 

A week later he’s staring down the private property with the rest of the production crew as Patty buzzes in to confirm attendance. It’s unbearably hot outside. By that point, his main concern is whether or not the age-old mansion has air conditioning.

It’s a lot more pleasant being inside the gates than out. Stretches of lawn gush with moisture, as green as can be. A couple of groundskeepers wave as they see them go by. Sometimes the misty spray from the lawn sprinkler rises up and hoses him, granting momentary relief.

The property has a long circular driveway with a fountain planted in the middle, just like in the movies. There’s so much to take in that Auston doesn’t know where to look first. They begin unloading the boxes of equipment, deflectors, and tripods as Patty makes way to the entrance. The imposing doors are twice as big as he is, and Pat’s not small by any definition of the word.

Without needing to knock, both front doors give way to a middle-aged man in a crisp blue suit. At first, Auston thinks he’s an assistant or someone from the team that’s got there early but then Patty’s got his hand in a firm handshake speaking jargon and it dawns on him in a not-so-subtle manner that this is the man in charge around here.

Everyone around him is already acquainted. Auston’s the odd one out and it shows. He holds onto his cameras like they’re his lifeline as the man greets the equipment crew one by one. Auston scavenges the conversations for bits and pieces to use only to find conflicting information at every step. It’s easier to adjust the strap of his camera, pressing his shoulders in to make himself look small.

“Who’s this?” The man finally strolls over.

“That’s Auston,” Patty answers for him. Auston loves the man but bites on his tongue to keep from correcting Patty that he is capable of introducing himself.

“Hi, nice to meet you, sir.” Auston reaches for a hand to shake but before he can make contact the man pulls his back.

“Kyle Dubas,” he corrects him. Then he gives his hand back.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Dubas.”

“Just Kyle, please. I hate the formalities.”

The name Kyle brings to mind images of a university frat pledge. It’s the farthest possible picture of the man’s job description as a hustler, pimp, or whatever. But visually it works. Probably the arrangement of his face. He looks like the friendly type.

“Alright, Kyle.” Auston shows some teeth. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

Kyle jumps conversations. “You must be new. I haven’t seen you before.”

“I just got on. Making those dreams come true.”

“New blood, I like that.” He gets into Auston’s personal space for shoulder pat. Auston reciprocates just enough to be polite.

Kyle claps his hand together. “Well then. We just finished renovations upstairs so I may as well give you all the whole tour.”

A few photographers stay behind and Auston soon finds out why. The whole tour, as he finds out, is only half of the building. Still a trek when you have two cameras in arm and a backpack of supplies to haul up the stairs. Kyle’s going into some deep history Auston’s blocked out. His focus is on the surrounding area, alien to his entire life up until that point.

All around him are classic Victorian design sets with pale wood frames and creamy leather bodies. Every hallway has some history to it, boasting a collection of white angel statues and giant diamond chandeliers that weep crystals. The mansion boils down to more of a castle. One look at the banqueting hall says enough about the proportions with regards to the high ceiling and use of stonework. It all comes together like ingredients in one big melting pot.

“Not all of our facilities are open to public use. I won’t go over specifics but just know the west wing and bunny rooms are out of bounds.” Kyle’s head ducks down, missing the wall sconce at the top of the stairs. It’s a pretty fleur-de-lis pattern, shelved over a series of paintings that depict faces in morbid distortion.

Kyle keeps the tour concise, only taking liberties with some of the contemporary spaces. He keeps talking about the natural light, showing off the skylights installed in the intersecting hallways. He’s right about one thing in that it picks up the drab and does away with it, leaving behind flurries of dust.

Finally, they’re at a long and imposing hallway. There’s one mirror on the opposite side of the doors and no furniture. The windows are huge floor mirror with solid mahogany latticework. It turns the grand hallway into a truly noble space. Every door looks the same, bouncing back the light emitted from the chandelier crystals.

“This is the bunny wing. Rooms are out of bounds, besides for the spare, at the end of the hall.”

“Is this where they all live?” Auston asks. It’s difficult to believe. The floors polish glimmers like volatile liquor. The opposite of cozy.

“Yes. Here and the wing directly beneath us.” Kyle knocks on the wall. The sound is completely absorbed.

No one comes in or out so they move on to the lobby next door. A large sun peel floor decal expands on the floor with a gap in the ceiling for another chandelier. A huge archway leads way to a seating area furnished with two white loveseats. It has a bit more colour compared to the rest of the mansion, experimenting with some acrylic art pieces on the walls to make it more homely.

“And this is our new spot for morning roundup. The Playmates should be here any minute. Please, take a seat,” Kyle says.

Auston’s not going to say no to that and takes the closest couch cushion for his own. The rest of the small group filters in and takes their posts. Kyle finally stops playing the part of greeter and pulls out his phone. Auston watches his fingers fly over the keys, well-practiced and intentioned. Kyle looks like a completely different person with his face straight.

About five minutes later there’s talk in the halls and five new faces show up. In military fashion, they divide and conquer. Kyle pockets his phone and intersects them.

“Not doing the usual today guys, back up.” The boy closest to Kyle purses his lips, taking a tentative step back to make room for himself.

Kyle beckons Patty to join the fold. Auston’s leg is fidgeting, tired of sitting still and ready to get some photos in before he drops dead.

“Willy’s our Playmate of the year so I’d love to see some more declarative posing with him. Like the May issue.” Kyle keeps his voice low but they’re parked right in front of Auston so it’s hard to block them out. Patty nods along.

“I already have something in mind,” Patty says. “I would love to get some shots inside the greenhouse.”

“You’re free to set up there now if you’re ready.” Kyle moves on to Auston. “We’re focusing a lot on Willy today so there’s a lot of concentration of gear there. Mitch just needs some new freelance shots for the website.”

Auston looks around, he can’t pin a name down on any one model in particular. “Which one is Mitch?”

“Right here.” The boy with brown hair walks up. His hair is neatly combed to one side. Like Kyle, he’s overdressed for the occasion, coming off more as a business executive than a model.

But with that face of his, Auston can believe he’d stir some people up. He shakes Mitch’s hand. “Uh, hi. Auston Matthews,” he introduces himself. He tries not to let his eyes stray.

“You new?” Mitch asks.

“I am.”

“Wow, he’s almost as young as me.” Mitch turns around, as if expecting some kind of emotional compensation from Kyle. Kyle’s smile seems to do it for him.

“I am young but I’ve been doing this for a while,” he presses.

Mitch’s face droops. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as a slight against you.”

Auston stalls. “I didn’t read it as such.”

Any foundation for a good conversation dies between them. Kyle has to intervene to keep the words from scraping the bones of small-talk clean. Auston’s not expecting any points for hospitality after that show of events. Mitch doesn’t read it as any inconvenience. He cozies up to Auston relatively quickly. It’s a relief in more ways than one.

Once that’s resolved, they’re finally let out of the lobby.

It’s a lot of creative freedom to have, being in a mansion all by yourself. Auston picked up a few pointers from the rushed introductions. Truth be told, it’s all new territory. Most of the ideas in his head go to the recycling bin up until he remembers the bunny hall.

“Do you know the way back to the rooms?” he asks Mitch.

“What rooms?”

“The uh, bunny rooms, as Kyle called them.”

Mitch forces a plain smile. “You’re not allowed to go in there.”

“Not the rooms itself, I just want to see the halls.”

“Oh. Uh yeah, I know the way back. Second or first floor?”

“Second.”

It’s not far from where they were but he’s glad he asked Mitch to lead the way. The whole mansion functions as a ginormous hive. One room alone can have five doors leading in different directions. His seriously flawed sense of direction would be toast.

In good time they’re back at the long hall. It smells like the perfect concoction of bleach and air fresheners.

“How many chandeliers are in this building?” He feels compelled to ask.

“I lost count a long time ago. Kyle thinks they add character,” Mitch says. He makes a motion of filing his nails down with the palm of his hand. There’s no need to, they’re perfect.

“And you?”

“What?”

“What do you think?”

Mitch raises his hand to grab the low-hanging jewels. It shows off a column of pale skin. “I think they look nice.”

Auston watches Mitch roll up his sleeves and collects all of the salivae in his mouth to flush it in one go. Mitch has a natural pull just in his face alone. Punchable under the wrong circumstances and kissable under the right. The camera is helpless but to follow his lead.

Auston’s not going in expecting to change the face of photography. He lets his subjects do the talking. All the natural light blankets Mitch, bleaching his hair blond. After a few introductory shots to get the wheels rolling, he asks Mitch to disrobe, taking his jacket and leaving him in his button-up. It gives him some more flexibility in how he approaches the shoot. The sunlight explodes the white on his body, turning him into a divine figure.

It’s good that Mitch has so much experience to work with. The gears get turning in Auston’s head, manifesting in some experimental shots that Mitch is as excited about as he is. Patty’s always telling him to keep work and pleasure separate and up until then, it’s been easy. There’s undeniable chemistry though. It sprouts in the sidewalk cracks of their conversations.

Like him, Mitch played hockey. He loves dogs (coos over Nala), likes a lot of the same cheesy foods, and went to the rival high school only ten minutes away from Auston as a kid. The work atmosphere dissolves into business-casual, giving him permission to bump shoulders and get all the airy pictures of Mitch with his smile out.

He’s scared of getting pornographic with Mitch even if it’s in the line of work. As the day progresses and he shares finger foods with Mitch by the pool the words threaten to burst out. Mitch is splashing his legs, he’s just come out of a costume change in a blouse tie neck and short pants. Auston snaps a photo.

“Am I showing enough for you?” Mitch asks. His fingers circle the button crotch. Auston looks away, letting his bangs obscure his peripheral view.

“No.” He clears his throat. “You’re fine.”

“And you’re being a prude.” Mitch sinks his legs in deeper until the water bobs up to his knees. “I don’t mind.”

“How do you do it?” Auston’s eyes flit closed. “How do you just open yourself like that.”

“Are you kidding? It’s so liberating. To be who you want and show that to the world. Surely you’ve had models strip naked for you before.”

“I have. But not for a brand like Playboy. That takes guts.”

Mitch rests his elbow on his knee, propping his chin in his palm. “Aw. Thank you. Once you see the money you make it all goes away. You haven’t even seen half of my life here.”

Auston leans in. “Then show me.”

Mitch lifts his legs out of the water and splays one over Auston’s lap to hold him down. It’s the typical arrogance one would expect out of a model of his kind. Auston can’t find it anything but endearing.

“I’m not sure you could handle it, big boy.” Mitch teases.

Auston gets the feeling he’s not all that serious but he will not be deterred. His mind projects the image of the rooms. He aches to get his hands on that kind of material.

“I won’t back down if you won’t. Show me the rooms?” Mitch opens his mouth but Auston continues. “I’ll take the fall.”

Mitch pauses. “Five minutes, no photos.”

It defeats the purpose and Auston knows that Mitch knows it. Dangling the prize right in front of him.

He tries bargaining, asking “not one?” The puppy-dog charm gets laid on thick, to no avail.

Mitch hovers a finger over Auston’s lip. “If I’m going to show you then it stays between us. No careers.”

Auston can’t say no to that, not with the way Mitch is looking at him. He grabs the few belongings with his name taped on the side and vacates the pool with only a few pictures on his SD card as proof that he was there.

They go downstairs, “where the older bunnies are,” Mitch says. It takes a second for Auston to realize he means contract-wise, not age. It still results in an embarrassing minute of him sizing Mitch up, trying to find any age-indicators. It’s impossible: Mitch can’t be older than he is.

Mitch is fiddling with the lock of one of the doors, identical to every other. “You’re really young for a photographer,” he says under no pretense. “I know I said it before but yeah. It’s nice to be working with someone that isn’t balding.”

Auston brushes the back of his hand against his forehead. “Well, I can’t promise my hairline will be here forever but yeah, I am pretty young. I did a--uh co-op during my three-year degree and they hired me once I graduated. It usually takes a lot longer.”

“Wow.” Mitch pushes the door open. “Riveting story. Well, come on in.”

A summer smell is pervasive, stretching throughout the whole room and seeping out into the hall. It’s the first liveable spot Auston’s seen in the mansion. A big living rug opens the space up. There’s a bag of salt and vinegar chips tucked away behind the wardrobe. It’s neat but not to the point of obsession.

He takes notices of the various trinkets lining the walls, all towering over the stacks of magazine covers. One, in particular, stands out.

Auston points at a shelf of bunny tails with thick bases. He’s almost afraid to ask but his traitorous mouth forms the words. “Are these?”

“Oh, God.” Mitch blocks his eyes with his hand. “Yeah, that--those were for promotion.”

“Bunny sex toys. I never imagined.”

“Let’s move on.” Mitch grabs Auston by the shirt hem and pulls him away. “I don’t like to talk about work here. It’s my safe place.”

“No offence, but how can you be okay with sex on one end and all freaked out about plugs on the other?”

Mitch’s eyes look everywhere but at him. “Because I don’t want you thinking less of me? I don’t know. You’ve made it clear you aren’t into it.”

“I mean, that’s not entirely true. I just don’t have a lot of information on what this is.”

“People want to see celebrities naked.”

“Oh, so now you’re a celebrity?”

Mitch eases up, snatching up the opportunity for a conversation change. “By Instagram standards, yes. People pay thousands just to see me, every day.” He takes to the bed, kneeling on the plush cushioning.

Auston takes his time walking closer. The room’s the cage, the boy the exhibit. “Can I get one picture with you on the bed? I won’t print it for review. I just want you to see how you look.”

Mitch cards a hand through his hair. “Auston--”

“You don’t have to but I think it’d be cute.”

Mitch purses his lips. Seconds go by and he’s frozen looking at Auston. Scrutinizing his every move.

His lips move in slow motion as he says the word “one.” Mitch stretches his legs out. His neck moves back, taking his head with it. Immaculate.

Auston’s in and out as quickly as possible, dropping to his knees in worship as he adjusts the focus. No professional lighting licks Mitch’s skin here. It’s the few wafting beams from the open window over the smell of cut grass and grasshopper howls. One. And it’s beautiful.

He turns his camera around to show Mitch the results but gets a hand to the face. “Our secret,” Mitch says. Then, he walks toward the door.

Auston follows.

  

Auston takes hundreds of photos but only presents a select few for inspection the next day. There was no opportunity for basic adjustments. Patty tells him that Kyle assumes full control for the design stage; he takes the core images and points out every flaw in black ink for retouching later. Not that Mitch will need many retouches.

The photos he takes in with his binder prove to be unnecessary. Kyle’s office has two monitors, one scrolling through endless depictions of floral wreaths crowned in budding hybrid tea roses. Auston takes his seat beside Patty, happy to have something to hold onto even if the bulk of it weighs down his hands.

He wasn’t in on the main shoot with Patty and therefore the logistics of it fly over his head. He’s left to flip through what he has on hand, reliving the acres sprawling tile. More often than not, Mitch looks ready to double down and laugh in his pictures. The two distinct beauty marks on top of his mouth always bow upward.

They’re just wrapping up production talk when Kyle, out of the blue, turns to him. He gets Auston’s attention by relieving him from the binder in his hands, without asking.

“I noticed you didn’t use anything but natural light,” he says. He flips through the binder for just a second, cataloguing the posing with his eyes. Without truly evaluating what he’s seeing, Kyle puts it down.

“It’s his style,” Patty says.

It’s the second time in recent memory that Patty’s intervention is noticeable. Auston was ready to boast about only needing a reflector with him to make magic. Woo Kyle a bit. He hunkers down on whatever he was going to say and changes his tone.

“Mitch didn’t need it. I wanted to imitate reality with the available light,” Auston says.

“Well, it’s beautiful. I like this one the best.”

He turns the monitor around so Auston’s in full view of the images on the screen. A click later and he’s looking at that one picture in Mitch’s room. His boy stretched out, showing off the natural beautiful his body owns.

“How did you--”

“It was still on the memory card, no? I have Patty bring them all to me in case any outliers stand out. I think it’s a good contrasting shot to what we have on file.”

Kyle turns the monitor back. “That was in his room, yes?”

“Yes.” He bites his teeth together. He can’t see Patty beside him but is sure it’s not a pretty look on his face. “It was my idea, not his. Nothing serious, we were just testing things out.”

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s okay, I like it. I’d still prefer the bunny’s lives be given the space they need from their public image.”

“I understand.”

“But other than that, beautiful work. I like switching photographers on Mitch. He works well with everyone.”

“Yeah, he’s a great guy.”

Kyle begins popping the photos from the binder out with his thumb. He leaves behind sheets of plastic protectors with nothing to hold. “Did you talk?”

Reassured by his words, Auston forces a strong nod. “We did. We have a lot in common.”

“Glad to hear it. Mitch has a few calendar shots coming up. If you two work well together we’d love to have you come back.”

“I’d love to if that works on our schedule.” He adds the last piece, still unsure about Patty’s going to react

A hand clamps down on his shoulder. It’s not kind. “We’ll be in touch,” Patty says.

Kyle corrects his glasses. “Great. Let’s move onto revisions then.”

He gets yelled at for violating policy for all of five minutes in the car ride back. Patty’s an open book. The words trickle out to a close and they’re allowed a comfortable silence. Auston knows that deep down there’s pride.

 

True to his word, Kyle stays in close contact and Auston’s cc’d on all future emails instead of waiting for the forward from Patty. It’s more than something to talk about at the water cooler. Lots of people assume he’s getting action and it’s the one rumour he can’t kill.

Even despite the magazine or studio or whatever it is having sexual undertones he’s surprised to open the Friday email and see that they’re filming in a shower. Not a regular shower mind you but one of the large walk-ins. It’s got earthy tones, natural light, and steam.

On set, he thinks back to his shoebox apartment. The shower cubicle and corresponding clogged drain. This place will never know the troubles. He hopes it never comes to that point.

The conditions for the shower scene to happen are very stringent. He puts together a bottle of baby oil at the prop station in the office to spray on the models. That alone ramps up the tension to eleven. It’s supposed to hold the water close to the client’s skin; Patty wants the droplets to stand out, clear as day. While that holds true, it doesn’t make the process of lathing it on the bodies any less unpleasant.

The whole production crew is wearing all black to limit the power of reflection. Every possible means of knocking out ambient light is used. It’s a tighter space than usual. Squeezing the backlights in takes effort. Everyone is in close quarters, maximizing on space.

The addition of the models should make matters worse but when he sees Mitch, it’s like he’s stopped breathing recycled air and is back outside. Mitch greets him with a cute little gesture. He’s in skin-tight briefs with a summer shawl on top. It shows just enough to tease. That’s before they spray him down with warm water, asking that he shed any remaining clothes he has on and join the other model inside.

He loves watching the lighting play on Mitch’s back, showing off the crease between his shoulders. The drops cling to Mitch’s midsection. A trail of them follows the spine down to the ass. Auston prides himself on his mental strength: only looks down twice.

Although the water combs Mitch’s hair upward, a few tufts on the nape flay out. Production design does nothing to fix it and so it continues to eat away at Auston. He has no authority to call off the more experienced photographers for a minor fix.

During one of the position breaks, he walks over to correct it himself. He flattens the palm of his hand down on Mitch’s neck. Instinctively, Mitch flinches. Auston pulls his hand away, fingers stroking the hairs into place.

“Sorry. It was sticking out,” he says.

Mitch turns around, reaching for Auston’s fingers with his own. “Your hand is so warm.” His voice is like hot lumps of sugar tipped back his throat. “Please stay there.”

Auston gives a small smile and backs up. Patty gives him a thumbs up, airing on the edge of manager and best friend all at once.

Mitch takes a deep breath and assumes the position he was in earlier, arms reaching for the sun. Mitch is so many things. Right now, he looks like an old oil painting. The water brings out the pigment of his skin.

Auston’s got so little creative freedom besides for his idea to have the other model--Tyler is his name--kiss Mitch on the shoulder after applying coats of hot pink lipstick. It leaves behind a vivid mark. A few splashes of water make the stain drip, but not disappear.

It may be his only contribution to the shoot but it’s great nonetheless. He gets his required shot count in and then some. His personal favourite is the split second when a gleam of sun explodes the water on his back into a full-blown halo. It’s a complete radiance. He can’t believe his eyes when he views the image from camera display.

He can’t stop looking at both it and the lower body photographs, even as much as it tarnishes his reputation. Kyle picks up on it at the review, this time at their offices. Not even the comfort of Auston’s home desk can save him from the lecherous grin that takes over the man’s face.

“You should become a subscriber to our magazine,” Kyle says. He has no business getting so cocky when he tripped over an extension cord not five minutes ago.

Auston sews his lips shut. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”

Kyle’s not a dumb guy. He loosens up on Auston, brings back the trademark smile.

“I was meaning to tell you, I loved your lipstick idea.”

Auston pulls his chair out so he can devote more of his attention to Kyle and not the stacks of review files. “Oh yeah? I did a similar thing with oil paints not too long back. Mitch just made it look easy.”

“There’s nothing he can’t wear. Lipstick included.”

It’s hard not to laugh with Kyle. He feels as though he shouldn’t. Kyle makes it easy to forego professionalism. He’s gotten yelled at once over it. Kyle’s not the models so many of them fraternize with. He’s got millions to his last name.

He puts up walls and Kyle tears them down. It’s quite a relationship they got going.

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole you away sometime next week?” Kyle asks, right in earshot of Patty.

Auston can see Patty look up slowly. He’s just been doing maintenance on one of the camera mode dials. Clearly not paying attention, he forces an unsure nod.

“What do you want?” Auston asks.

“We’re having a little beach day celebration. Would love to have you on board. It’s completely casual, just for fun.”

Auston’s teeth drag through his bottom lip. He leans back on the chair’s backrest, a deep sigh escaping out of his nose. “I don’t--”

“You should go.” Auston looks up. Patty has put his equipment down. “You deserve it.”

He turns back to Kyle. “Would I be taking photos?”

“If you want. It would be a nice meet and greet. A lot of the models want to meet you.”

Auston points a finger at his chest. “Meet me?”

“Mitch talks.”

“Ah. Mitch. Could you tell him I said hi?”

Kyle smiles. “I can, but how about you do that when you join us for beach day?”

He makes a very compelling argument.

 

It’s the poster child of all beaches: what looks like a tiny cay surrounded by mounts of rock, buckweed, and pockets of blush wildflowers. Just getting down to water level requires they step down a man-made set of rickety stairs. Flecks of white paint latch onto their clothes.

From celebrity chefs and their gourmet food to the open bar treatment, there isn’t a single person not stuffing their face. Appetizers circulate like a carnival attraction: deviled eggs, smoked shrimp and sausage, and watermelon cubes plated, then stacked up on one another until the sauces mingle together. His stomach is grumbling at the smell of cooked meat wafting clumps of flavour on gusts of wind.

All of the models are in various forms of attire, varying from the typical beachwear to more revealing clothes that most mainstream brands wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Arguably the worst offenders are the slim-built models like Mitch and Willy, who have more holes in their outfit than swiss cheese.

Kyle’s looking a bit casual himself, losing the dress pants and holding water with a neat button-up. It’s weird watching his employer nurse beer so close to what’s become a trying working environment.

Distractions run amok; the staff don’t seem to understand he’s legally obliged to keep his distance from temptation the fifth time they come by with a pail of ice and some alcoholic drink he can’t pronounce the name of.

Kyle comes over in the middle of a shot of Kasperi on the stairs. Auston’s belly is flat to the sand, preoccupied with fighting the sun’s rays and the sand’s grit. The hand feeling up his back gives him a nasty shock. Kasperi almost laughs off his thick black shades, recognizing that Kyle comes with intent and taking his leave.

“You enjoying yourself?” Kyle asks. He kneels down beside Auston, extending his hand to help Auston up.

“It’s beautiful here,” Auston answers. He stretches his elbow out and gets a nice loud pop from it. “Lots of good things to catch.”

“I mean more on a personal level. Have you tried the meatballs yet? They got my seal of approval.” He’s twirling around one of the pick-up sticks, a deep burgundy colour on one end from what he presumes was the innards of said meatball.

It’s hard to see behind all the rock formations but Auston points out his backpack some feet away. “Nah. I brought a packed lunch. I’ll eat it on my break.”

Mid-chew, Kyle looks up, takes one look at the equipment, and drops his eyelids.

“What, you’re not going to sample the goods? It’s my treat. I don’t mind.”

“I’m flattered but I have lots of expensive equipment around.”

Kyle pinches the pick in his hand, moving it up to his mouth so he can clinch it in between his teeth. “Wow, you’re a fighter. It’s up to you man but I’ll say this: there’s always a million excuses to not do something. Let loose for a change.”

Auston pushes his hair back, not quite sure what the situation calls for. As much as he knows he’ll love eating cold-cut sandwiches he made twelve hours ago he doesn’t want to do something stupid on the job either. Kyle holds the serious expression just long enough to scatter a few worries about the later.

He pets Auston’s upper back. “I’ll see you around.”

Auston plays with the dials on his camera to give himself somewhere to look. Kyle’s long gone when he looks up. All he sees is the volleyball match set up by Zach, one of the bunnies who’s trying to mediate over the edge of his phone.

Half the guys are making up the rules as they go along, bringing out that fierce competitive nature he gets a few shots of. The one guy with the really thick eyebrows is getting into it. He screams right in Auston’s face when he walks up and begs for a picture.

Auston gets sprayed with sand so often he may as well be playing. Getting the shots he wants requires he be part of the action and unfortunately, standing by the netting only encourages the boys to try and hit him. At one point he comes close to getting his camera lens knocked clean off its mount. He manages to dodge only out of luck.

Zach makes a half-hearted attempt to push him out of the way. “You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer bud,” he comments. It’s coming from the guy with no sunscreen on, now the equivalent of a lobster.

Auston shows him the photo he got out of spite, which throws the last of his professionalism out the window. In the image, the ball’s motion is stopped clean. The sun has turned the specs of kicked sand into sugar. No one is in the frame--with the exception of one manicured hand reaching for the ball--still, he takes great pride in the short depth of field blurring the focus of the water until the waves resemble snake scales.

It’s not the apple of Zach’s eye and is passed on relatively quickly but that does little to diminish his pride. It could be the weather talking but inside he’s sunny.

They stay until the day wanes. Yelling turns to gibberish. The ocean’s blundering waves stall, hushed into mewling. Someone goes ahead and starts a fire by plucking dry wood and adding them to the pit.

Auston’s eyes flood with light and he’s woozy. The whole day has been about his profession. He’s been walking the hot coals, fidgeting his fingers until they cramp. He’s not the only one. His current camera, the second of two, is hot to the touch and has had its fair share of memory cards inserted into the slot.

The assignment won’t be finished until nine, giving him thirty minutes to unwind after the typical bonfire shots of the boys huddling together, draping their discarded clothes over their shoulders to stay warm. He’s got his knees tucked up, toes flicking away the sand that’s hunkered down in his open-toed shoes. The ocean is speaking to him in tongues, beckoning him in closer.

It’s a mystifying trance, to have the subject speak to the artist. He’s become the camera, his depth of field shortening to include just him and the water. He hardly notices when Mitch seats himself beside him, overlapping his thigh on Auston’s knee to get his attention.

“Hey,” Mitch says. Auston is settling back into that slow tempo after the initial scare. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Go right ahead.” It doesn’t need to be said, Mitch has already unpacked all his baggage and strewn himself over Auston.

The fluffy head of hair sits right under his hands, thick as molasses. There’s a tiny tapping noise by Auston’s knee where Mitch is holding on to a white drink. Sand is sticking around the base because of condensation.

“How long have you been here?” Auston asks. His hands keep pressing into the sand, kneading it like bean bag filling and trying to dig his way to the bottom. He has a feeling if he was sitting on grass he’d be plucking each individual strand and whittling it into strings.

“At the mansion?” Mitch asks, staring off into space. Auston nods. “Two and a half years.”

“Wow. How’s that working out for you?”

“It’s actually so nice here.” Mitch takes a long sip of his drink. Auston’s eyes stray to his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I won’t lie it has its moments but it’s better than working for minimum wage like I was.”

“So you’re not a model.”

“No. Willy’s probably the closest thing for a model. I just worked the drive-through at the local Starbucks. Kyle was a regular.”

“So that’s how you met, over coffee?”

“He came in at really slow times. We struck up a few conversations and then he asked me out.”

The wording gets a few eyebrows raised.

“On a date?”

Mitch laughs. “No, not really. He joined me over my break and he talked about spoiling me. I’d never been spoiled in my life, I grew up with an older brother and got hand-me-downs when my dad counted bills. When he promised I could be a bunny all those worries about paying rent were washed away. I never looked back.”

“Huh.”

Mitch places a hand over his chest. “And I’m not the only one. A lot of us come from unfortunate backgrounds. Kyle helps us out so much.”

“He does seem like a nice guy.”

“He really likes you, we can see it in his eyes. Not a lot of people get to come back because he likes keeping things fresh.”

Mitch begins to look introspective. It’s too much thinking for beach day. Auston doesn’t answer him and steadies a hand on Mitch’s bare skin.

Waves crest smashing into stone. Flickering embers and jumping sparks. A galaxy of stars over their heads. That right there is the sum of their reality.

  

Auston doesn’t just wash his hands of work straight after. There’s money in the modelling industry as opposed to the event and landscape photography projects he takes on the side for odd-jobs. Not only does a portion of his pay does come from a commission but being so active does wonders for his portfolio as well. Not that he’d consider leaving the company anytime soon but it keeps his options open for a worst-case scenario.

His growing independence from Patty is his only cause for concern. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have minded Patty looking over his shoulder for every assignment. Now, he’s finally familiar enough with bookings and schedule to make decisions for himself. Patty looks like a whipped puppy whenever Auston’s on the phone fielding requests from both moderates and amateurs.

He learns very quickly how important a client Playboy is. As one of the big contract companies in the area, it's no wonder that the brew of monthly magazine publications and a market hungry for sex appeal needs so many men on the sides to keep the operation going. Auston works primarily on a monthly basis in the mansion and sees faces come and go. Kyle changes the behind the scenes crew on the dime, says he doesn’t like people getting acquainted with the models. It’s either bullshit or cognitive dissonance that he doesn’t care about Auston’s carving out a home for himself in the centre of his universe.

Patty warns around Kyle yanking the plug at any given moment and keeps Auston on his feet. It’s a weird juxtaposition. They’ll toast to the publications one moment and next be marketing their services, anticipating a drop. The one relief is that there’s no shortage of work elsewhere. The change in season brings the demand for wedding photographers to the max. Companies come in asking to promote products and services. It’s the music of machinery at work.

He slaves away at his deck performing hundreds of edits. Each stroke of brush or smudging cuts at him.  He almost paints over a client’s belly button. He pours hours into his images. Works to the bone. If his camera doesn’t do him in all the graphic design will probably cripple him with carpal tunnel.

He declines an assignment at the mansion--Patty convinces him it’s for the best--and uses one of his personal days to chomp on expired chips on the steps of the porch.

He comes back to the office the next day to a message on his desk phone and an inbox with eight unread messages. The first is from Playboy. It’s casual. The subject line alone tells him as such.

 

_Dear Auston,_

_I was trying to reach you by phone before I found out you were out of office. Patrick told me you were feeling under the weather. Rest assured, everything is fine._

_We have a summer special magazine coming up. We’d love to have you on board._

_The details are attached. Let me know if you’re interested._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Kyle_

 

It’s nice to know someone cares. Not in an overdramatic way either. It’s something he can swallow without grimacing.

He punches the date Kyle gives him in his calendar and finds he has a wedding that evening. There’s nothing he can do on such short notice. He’s still disappointed, even if Mitch isn’t on the call sheet.

He fashions a simple email to Kyle explaining the situation. Unlike most emails he writes, it manages to stretch into two paragraphs. What’s inside, he’s not so sure. He writes it in a detached frame of mind.

Thirty minutes later, his inbox dings.

 

_Dear Auston,_

_No worries. Feel free to stop by and visit if you feel like it._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Kyle_

 

 

He doesn’t have a visitor badge and his name’s not on the list but that Tuesday he’s at the mansion regardless. In the back of the van is a box of lens accessories and posing equipment. One of the guys on their team, Ron, forgot it back at the studio and made a desperate call back for delivery.

Since Auston’s disposable for the day they put him on assignment to bring it to them on the promise that he’ll get an extra half an hour for lunch. They don’t need to bribe him for him go out but he’ll take the thirty minutes without complaining.

It’s weird, being the one to drive up through the gates and park out front. If he’s not called shotgun he’s in the back staring out the window to make the queasy sensation in his stomach go away.

The sun is beating down something fierce. Auston’s putting his back into picking up the crate with a trolley to assist him. His knees ache just enough for him to wonder if they’re going to give out.

“Auston. I didn’t know you were stopping by.” Without turning around, he knows it’s Kyle. He almost drops the equipment on his toe in surprise.

He doesn’t respond to Kyle immediately. His first priority is setting the crate back inside the van’s open trunk, resting right on top of the bumper.

He turns around with a smile. His hands are dirty and sweaty. He reveals them to Kyle to explain why he’s not rushing to shake his hand.

“I’m just here to bring the extra stuff,” Auston says.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better. Mitch was sad to hear you couldn’t make it.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I don’t know what’s the protocol on asking models out for lunch but I’d be willing to grab a bite if he’s free.”

The excitement in Kyle’s face builds and builds until Auston asks about Mitch’s availability. It’s a freefall from that point on.

“He’s actually scheduled to do a show right now. I’m sorry.”

The disappointment is short-lived. “Show?”

“Well, you know Mitch is one of our most requested models. They do sort of a question and answer kind of thing online.”

“Oh.”

“You’re welcome to come and watch if you’re not busy.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You’re part of the family.”

They make a quick pit stop in the bunny wing where Ron makes a big show out of thanking him. The models are strapped up in their bunny suits, making some last minute touch-ups to their gear and hair. The prop director has two umbrellas in hand, spinning the hooks until the blend of colours forms a kaleidoscope pattern.

He hands off the supplies and returns to Kyle’s side. They depart from the organized chaos on set and take the stairwell up to the second floor. They walk past the lobby and keep going for what feels like forever.

It’s uneasy being side by side with nothing to be said. Kyle’s the type to bear a worldly presence. Salt of the earth kind of guy who walked into success. Today must be one of those days.

He helps out the process by collecting his stride and speeding up so their steps match. “I’m sorry for assuming Mitch was free.”

“He usually is. We’re short a model though so everyone’ pitching in to do his hours. I feel bad. It’s become overtime work, in a way. And I know what you’ll say,” he beats Auston to the next word, “he’s able to refuse. But he won’t. He’s stubborn like that.”

It explains his wide availability for shoots. Once upon a time, Auston assumed it was typical for Mitch to have an entire day behind the camera. Now he pities the thought. It must be hard work.

“Must be long hours,” Auston says.

Kyle clicks his tongue. “He’s a lot like you, in a way. I don’t mean to get heavy on you though.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It will be over soon, hopefully. Life will go back to normal.” He sighs. “Mitch won’t be so stressed. _I_ won’t be so stressed. I’m counting the days until the submissions.”

Auston’s a bit lost conversation-wise but laughs hoping it's an appropriate response. He continues following Kyle through the winding corridors trying to put a pin in where he is by looking out passing windows. The cathedral-style designs wane into normalcy. The mansion begins to look like any other residence.

Eventually, Kyle stops at a large white door. It’s at the beginning of a cold, concrete shell. Lining walls is an army of potted plants. The development becomes a series of offices in the blink of an eye.

“Here we are. Mitch should be inside.”

“You’re not going to come in?”

Kyle pushes his hair back. “I like to give them privacy. Give me a call when you’re free later and we’ll catch up.”

“All right. See you.”

Kyle takes off, his hands in his pockets. They’ve both become very informal in that sense of the word. Auston doesn’t linger, he twists the knob to let himself in and is hit with a cloud of hair product so thick it makes his eyes water.

It’s your typical beauty parlour, with a row of black styling seats and thin mirrors mounted into the ground. A whole array of products stock the shelves, gels and mousse. It’s a line of explosive safety signs and chemical listings printed on the backs of cylinders. Skin waxing creams sit on the vanity beside flasks of nail polish.

Only two people occupy the space. One seated in the closest chair and the other on the fritz, waving around mascara wands.

After the conversation with Kyle, the signs of wear and tear are blatant. Mitch’s back is curved, a dark tint under his eyes. The makeup artist is dabbing concealer under his eyes in thick splotches.

When he notices Auston his demeanour changes. The forehead wrinkles disappear. His crow’s feet pop out and he excuses himself from the process of caking his face to spin his chair around.

“Auston! What are you doing here?”

“I was just delivery parts for another shoot. Wanted to see you.”

He expects a smile, maybe a hug. Instead, Mitch’s lips pop, the suction loud enough to make Auston squirm.

“Uh. Yeah, this isn’t the best time,” Mitch says.

“Kyle said I could watch you.”

Mitch’s skin blisters. In seconds he’s a deep red. “I don’t know if you want to. It’s pretty boring.” His head looks ready to retract into his body.

“Hey,” Auston walks over and braces himself on the armrest of Mitch’s chair, “I know what you do. It’s no big deal. Unless you don’t want me to leave.”

“No, don’t leave.” Mitch hooks a finger in one of Auston’s belt loops.

That smothers any remaining argument left in Auston. Not that there was much to begin with. He takes the salon chair next to Mitch and crosses his legs. The lady with the makeup swabs returns.

“So what’s the gossip around here? What did I miss.”

“Not much.” Mitch tilts his head back and widens his eyes to get his mascara done. “I’m almost done here. I’m afraid we don’t have long to talk.”

His voice is a bit spotty, like grainy television static. It’s exhaustion talking. Or simply an irritable itch he can’t scratch. Auston keeps his trap shut and lets both of them do their jobs.

In due time, Mitch is all dolled up. Nothing too heavy. All complimentary with lashes pumped up to the point where they almost touch his eyebrows. He looks like a completely different person when he turns to Auston at the end. Judging by the way Mitch’s lip quirks, something must show on Auston’s face.

“C’mon,” Mitch says. He tries, keyword tries, to get Auston to stand with him.

Auston’s ass has solidified in the black cushions making up the chair. His legs tangle, feet tripping over the chrome steel frame and swivelling the chair around in a circle as his body remains trapped by the armrests. Mitch has to let Auston go to help him figure out how to get his arms in order.

They get a good laugh out of it. That pin holding Mitch down pops out of place. Auston can massage out the kinks and get some conversation going.

Mitch is particularly excited about showing him the behind-the-scenes. He goes all out planning a tour. First stop is changing Mitch out of his casual wear. Auston’s first time seeing him in a shirt is short lived.

“Just through here,” Mitch says. Auston follows suit and stops the second he looks up. They’re at the entrance of a huge studio wardrobe.

“Holy shit.”

Hundreds, maybe thousands of outfits hang off of bars or are in cubbies. On the side is a neat arrangement of bondage equipment, whips and what have you. Some of the harnesses have space all to their own, glinting at Auston.

“This is our costume studio. We have fittings for every playmate but sometimes we share if it’s sanitary.” Mitch walks over to a sliding wardrobe door and opens it. There’s a couple folded towels on top, but the lower the shelves go the bigger the mass of items on them. Some are plains, others sparkly, most meeting the bare minimum of what would be considered clothing.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do for this one. Usually, I have a calendar with me,” Mitch trails off.

“You plan it out?”

“Down to the letter.” Mitch laughs. “I think this week is a glamour shot.”

“And you do this for all these men? I would’ve thought it would just be Kyle.”

Mitch laughs himself hoarse. “No. Kyle never asks us to do anything for him. Besides the centrefolds.”

“You’re not his boyfriend?”

“What’s with all the questions?” Mitch beams at him.

“I’m just curious. I read and see a lot. I had no way of knowing.”

“Well then, let me say that Kyle has no boyfriends. He has favourites but no boyfriends. That’s been Willy for about a month. I couldn’t tell you what Kyle asks of him but I’ve never heard of sexual favours.”

Without even looking for a change room, Mitch begins the process of undressing. Auston folds a hand over his face to give him the necessary privacy, then turns to look at the wall when the gaps in between his fingers bleed white. He doesn’t want to abuse the opportunity or Mitch’s trust.

In a way, having only his ears as satellites to hone in on the sounds Mitch is making is worse than looking. Mitch keeps making those cute little snuffles and Auston has no idea why.

“You can look now,” Mitch says a minute later.

Auston lets his hand fall. Mitch has crossed his wrists together, swinging them by his hips. Auston’s not entirely sure what he has on. It’s a long sheet. It shows nothing in regards to his form. The colour is a nice baby blue.

“Oh wow.”

“Kyle said you think I look good in white but,” he smacks his lips, “I didn’t have any.”

Auston balks, he’s shortchanged. Mitch appears to know what he’s done: all rosy-cheeked.

“Kyle said that?”

“He did. You can help me with some of my jewelry if you’d like. I want your opinion.”

Mitch slides open a white drawer beneath the shelvings of folded dress shirts. Inside glints a whole collection of bracelets, collars, you name it. The chains crisscross. Rhinestones overlap. His eyes search for a focal point, a piece that stands out, but is unable to succeed.

Mitch answers for him. He tugs out a bohemian-style shoulder necklace and pushes his head through the gap. The infused gems are supposed to rest flat on the skin; Mitch uses it to weigh down the garment he has on. The clumps of gems hang off of his shoulders as a harness.

Mitch does an experimental little spin, just for him. Auston applauds. He wouldn’t mind watching Mitch model some more body jewelry but clamps his mouth shut. Mitch shuts the drawer and the opportunity leaves the room.

They walk down a large hallway of contemporary office spaces. Every room has a plain white door with a gold nameplate. One of the doors is open and as Auston’s walking by he sees a whole network of furniture and technology mingling together. The small, decorative items try to make the spaces look more domestic. The room’s symmetry makes everything look unnatural, however.

He almost runs into Mitch, who stops abruptly just as the hallway begins to curve. His tongue prods at his cheek, looking Auston up as he turns the knob to let them in. Before they’re even completely inside Auston can see the exposed brick wall. It’s always telling of the interior design when wall texture swaps.

The room has no windows. A large king bed is placed in the middle. The dresser at the foot of the bed has a huge screen resting on top. Ginormous. With a computer and video camera. Every tendril of electrical wiring is key to keeping the connection online: it’s so familiar he could cry.

Mitch is doing some last-minute touch-ups to his hair, curbing the parting of his hair with his pinkie. “You move that chair anywhere. You just can’t be in front of the screen.”

“So this is where you cam?” Auston asks as he drags the wire chair forward. The cushion on the bottom almost slides out and he has to stop and push it back.

“Yep! This is my room. The boys call it the _Marilyn Monroe_.”

Auston’s settling down. “Why that?”

“They’re all named after models. With the double M’s it just fit.” Mitch sticks his tongue out. The image of playful humour clashes with the fine dress he’s in.

Auston drags the chair forward just enough so that he can see what Mitch is looking at. Eight tabs are open. The active tab shows a split screen model: half of it an empty chat and the other what the cam is seeing.

Mitch crawls over on his hands and knees. He cups Auston’s jaw and strokes his chin with his thumb, gliding over the mounts of stubble. Gently, he pushes Auston back.

Auston wets his lips. His hands, looking for something to do, peck away at the seams in his clothing. “So is this--do you always have sex here?”

“Not always. Didn’t start out like that. It was just celebrity profiling for a while there and then people came forward and would pay for you to do things. It just made sense to us. This money is ours.”

Auston stops tugging on the loose stitching on his hoodie and looks up. Mitch continues, “like, I know some of the guys are saving up for college using this. Connor is one, Zach was for a while there. Being a bunny means you’re a household name, thus more visitors and more cash. So they’re pretty out there all in the name of money.”

“And you?”

Mitch’s lips tighten. He crosses his legs. “Not the sexual type. I’m here to talk and blow kisses. And if they ask and the conditions are right, then maybe. We’ll see.”

“So plus this your day is completely full.”

“Completely.” Mitch rests his chin on his knees. “It’s a busy life but rewarding. I have to work now, so you will need to be quiet.”

It comes out of left field. The facade of laughter goes away. Mitch transforms into a completely different person. Professional. A single click and a new smile begins on his face. It’s not genuine. His face doesn’t wrinkle and his eyes are cold.

Auston takes out his phone, silences it, and circles between four apps on his phone in rapid succession. For a long time, Mitch says nothing, The keyboard taps answer for him. The webcam daisy-chained onto the top of the monitor is adjusted as Mitch puffs out his chest and tests his angles.

It’s the same as setting up for a production shoot, Auston guesses.

Mitch’s hands land on his feet. “Hey guys, I missed you.”

Auston tries not to think too hard about the implications, the flashes of skin, and words dipped with honey. He expected he’d be angrier about having to share borrowed time. Yet, the longer he watches Mitch perform the more apparent it becomes that the millions of people paying subscriber fees don’t so much as get a glimpse of the real boy. He does.

“Oh, you’re going to show me what you look like? You’re a cutie.”

Mitch drums his fingers on his exposed stomach as he waits something to happen. It seems every few minutes, without explanation, he reveals more and more skin. It comes dangerously close to being some wack-ass video conference with him in the nude. For all his joking about sex, Auston didn’t expect to see it in the flesh.

He’s getting antsy, beginning to slide his chair back to give Mitch more space. The first time the chair leg tip runs over the computer’s power adaptor, he freezes. Nothing happens. The second time, whatever cord he bumps into is thick and his chair tips back. His arms grab the bottom of his chair as his heart stutters.

Mitch looks up. His composure splits, if only for just a second. Auston mouths the words “I’m alright” and “I’m sorry”, hoping it makes up for the concentration he stole.

Mitch’s eyes as round as hard-boiled eggs. He takes his sweet time moving from Auston back to the screen.

“Sorry guys, there’s someone in the room with me.” A pause. “What? You want to see him? Yes, _him_.”

Mitch’s hands open up, beckoning. The fingers of a mistress, like a spider’s legs. Auston bites his lip. He’ll compromise on a lot of things but privacy is not one of them.

Without needing words, Mitch understands. His hand falls to the bed. “Sorry guys, he’s very shy.”

He makes up for Auston’s refusal by stripping a bit more. Words no longer placate the ground. Mitch is topless, having removed the jewels pressing the sheet down and then wiggling out. He puts the body jewelry back on. It lies flat on his skin, glistening.

Auston can tell Mitch is still fielding responses about him because of how every so often his eyes slit to the side and look at him. Auston bounces his leg in place for a bit. There’s courage stemming from somewhere inside of him. A voice in the back of his head eggs him on, to walk over and do something. He has no idea why the compulsion is there. It’s the grit under his fingernails.

A half hour pulls to a close. He’s got commitments back at the studio to attend to. He was supposed to just be out for lunch. Unfortunately, Mitch is still going strong. It doesn’t look like he’ll get to fit a good-bye in anytime soon.

As he’s collecting his belongings, he pardons himself for a second to let his arm reach out and stroke Mitch’s shoulder. Sexually charged. Greedy. Touch-starved after having to share Mitch’s attention with a crowd of a few hundred.

He doesn’t look bad to see what Mitch’s face looks like. He hopes he’s holding it together better than Auston. His chest feels ready to explode.

 

“I love the white on Mitch. You see that angelic halo effect around his head and it fits him so well. We usually suit him up in blue because he wears it so well but he could stand to play the virginity card more often.”

“You have quite an eye for the details, sir.”

Kyle looks at him from under his lashes, berating him for the use of formality without even having to lift a finger. Auston readjusts his place on the office chair, finding it uncomfortable.

It's appraisal season for his photos. Some old, some new. Some aren’t even his. It was Kyle’s request, not his.

“Well, I’ve been reviewing portfolios for the whole week. After the first ten, you start seeing the same models time and time again. I have to remind myself it’s not just faces but personality.”

“You a big photo person?”

“We’re hiring another bunny for the mansion. Our last boy’s contract was terminated,” he looks up from under his glasses, “for good reason. It basically came down to me saying ‘look, we know you’re getting old and a playboy model isn’t exactly the kind of job you want in your late thirties, nearing forties.’ He was a good guy. Solid on the screen and at the poker tables. It’s a now matter of finding someone that meets the same criteria.”

“How’s that process like?”

Kyle pulls a drawer out on his side of the desk and retrieves two floppy ears sewn into a thick headband.

“Simple. Can they convince me that they fit on the lineup.”

Auston laughs. It’s put out, fake. It’s not so much he disagrees or has a problem with Kyle as it is more he’s confused with the turn of conversation.

Kyle double takes.

“You know, it wouldn’t look that bad on you.”

“Let me see that.” Auston stretches his hand out, palm up. Kyle gives him the ears, waiting for Auston to duck his head down and let the strip press his hair back.

Auston strings both ears in opposite directions. He waits for the appearance to complete itself before facing Kyle.

“How do I look?”

Kyle claps his hands together. “You look lovely. It actually fits you very well.”

Auston slips the band off, coughing up a genuine laugh for a change.

“Could I persuade you for filling the role for the time being?” Kyle asks. His whole face is lifted, cheeks pulled up until his eyes squint.

“Thanks for the offer but I’m happy where I am.”

Kyle’s mouth opens but he then second guesses himself and snaps it shut. “Oh well, can’t say I tried. Can I still reach you at the email you’ve listed here?” Kyle taps at the screen.

“Sure can.”

“Then that’s all. Thanks, man.”

Kyle walks him out, one hand on his back. They pass by a couple of bunnies lounging in the common area. The blond is admiring his manicure. He glances up as Auston walks by, sees the hand on the back and grimaces. The other bunnies chitter around him, submerged in the glut of their conversation.

 

The first time he gets the email he chocks it down to some promotional shit and it goes into the read folder that he won’t bother checking again.

The second time, he actually looks into it. He’s coming back after a short break and notices it’s the first entry in his inbox, right under the cursor. It’s personally addressed to him, something he can tell just because of the opening sentence. It’s too personalized, more like the greeting of an executive than the traditional secretary’s notice on personalized mass emails.

It’s an invitation to an event coming up that Wednesday. The graphics are simplistic but not without their charm. Not over the top but enough. It says more than the text, a majority of which is filler guiding his eyes to the hyperlink at the bottom.

The directions open Google maps for him without asking. The red map pin drops about twenty minutes from his location. A five-star organization only listed under the heading and review section as a “club.” The blue stripes indicating roads zigzag in and out of intersections before landing downtown. It’s on one of the rich districts, coincidentally the same street as the mansion.

He’ll admit, he’s winded and needs a second opinion. Ron and Shirley are having a go at draining the water cooler. Muzz is not at his desk. And then there’s Patty, who's been strangely despondent as of late. Auston fears it’s going to come out in conversation but to his surprise when Patty sees him looking he welcomes Auston over by patting the leftover space on his swivel chair.

Auston plucks his phone out of his pocket and opens the email app as he’s walking over.

“Hey, you know Kyle better than me. What is this?” he says, pointing at the first line of text.

Patty’s face gets all squinty when he leans in to read what is says. Auston lets Patty take the phone, bring it up to his nose, and then snap open his glasses case. Auston crosses his arms and waits out the long process, eyeing the work in progress open on Patty’s computer: what looks like a deformed squirrel.

“We cordially invite you as a temporary keyholder to the Playboy club on Wednesday," Patrick reads, no bullshit. He skips ahead of the text. “This is not a sex club, please be dressed in formal attire.” It’s almost worth the embarrassment that comes with watching his face twist into a look of confusion.

“Yeah. Do I go?”

Patty lifts the frames of his glasses, rubbing at his eyes underneath. “Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“It’s just a party.”

“I don’t know, I’ve heard they’re pretty wild down there.”

“So you’ve been invited before.”

Patty brings a hand down on his shoulder and jostles him a bit. “I might’ve. My memory is wearing on me. Go if you want, but be careful.”

“It’s okay. Kyle will be there.”

Patty’s sighs. “I know. Are you sure about this? Maybe you should take a break from them.”

“Patty, I know what I’m doing. I’m not a kid anymore.” Auston’s face hardens into stone.

Patty waves him off and returns back to his work. That’s the end of that conversation apparently.

 

He calls in a favour from a friend to get him dropped off at the main entrance. It’s on the same street as the mansion, a bit down the road. He never drove in that direction on any of his trips. It always looked like it would be a dead end. Not anymore, cars are parked up and down the streets. Getting in takes almost twenty minutes.

Inside is the polar opposite of the bourgeois lifestyle inside of the mansion. He’s talking about the dimly lit interiors, baroque ceilings, and guests eating large samples of food on the leather couches over the smell of sweet mint cologne and chewing gum. Heated plates of crispy rice, spicy mayo, and roasted sesame sauce are pushed to the back by the bar wall. Rows of rare spirits and liquor line the entrance.

All the cocktail book displays make his head spin. Auston picked out a nice textured blazer and still feels undressed in the mass of jersey shirts and leather sole shoes. A minute in and he spots the first of many bunnies, circulating with glasses of whisky planted on their trays.

Any appetite incubating in his stomach disappears. He’s not sure if it’s the malt, barley, or just the chemical tinge alive in the room that’s responsible.

He flashes the printed invite at the member of staff manning the hostess stand. She leans in to review the date and time, parting for a second to check off what he assumes is an attendance card stacked on the podium. She then leads the way through a sea of suit jackets and felted ties. Auston doesn’t spare a thought for the jam-packed section of the bar counter.

The two of them pass through the first seating area and come to a fireside lounge. There, behind a fabric screen is a long table. He recognizes no one at the table at a first glance: all look to be in their mid to late thirties, best case.

“Auston, over here,” a voice crows.

Auston stretches his head to find the source and is pleasantly surprised to see Kyle in attendance. He’s well meshed with the attire of the other patrons. It’d been easy to miss him the first time around.

The server leads Auston around to take the empty seat beside Kyle. It’s the last chair before the table drops off. Kyle blocks him out; all conversation has to be mediated through him. The odd fellow across from Auston doesn’t look like he has much to say.

“Everyone, this is Auston. Auston we were just talking about you.” Auston eyebrows jump; Kyle moves to remedy him. “All good things.”

“Thanks.” He treads carefully. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Auston, Kyle was telling us you worked in photography. You a model?” Someone asks from the back.

Auston pulls his chair in, both to unfold his silverware pouch but also to be able to see who he is speaking to. The voice comes from the man sitting underneath a hand-painted mural. He’s got short, flat eyebrows and plump cheeks.

“Uh, no. I work freelance on the side but behind the scenes I’m a studio assistant.”

“To Patrick Marleau,” Kyle clarifies.

The man looks satisfied with his answer. “Oh, Patty. Good guy.”

The questions continue for a while. The men poke and prod at everything from his fashion to the meaning behind the tattoos on his left arm. In a minute they’ve dug up his university and degree. It stands on the fringes of being an interrogation.

Auston’s trying to save face with his words, worried that any mistake he makes will show badly on Kyle. He cycles through a few fidgets to stave off boredom: leg bounces and finger tapping to keep him occupied with the mundane, and more important, grounded at the moment so he doesn’t drift off in his own headspace.

Kyle, for the most part, lets Auston do all the talking. Sometimes at the end of a better-than-average answer he’ll nod but that’s about it.

They’ve been seated for some time. Auston has used his glass of water as a crutch to get out of awkward moments and drains it in minutes. He couldn’t be more grateful for the arrival of a server. Of course, when he looks up it’s a different story.

“Good evening gentlemen.” And oh fuck, it’s _Mitch_. “What can I get you?”

Yikes. Auston must look like an idiot for gawking. He can’t help it, not with seeing Mitch in uniform. It’s tight, in all the places his usual outfits aren’t. What takes the cake is the combination of latex and heels. It’s something Auston remembers seeing on the covers of older magazine editions. Not something he expected to come across in person, much less on Mitch of all people.

Auston’s parched; can’t cook up much of an answer besides for requesting more water, eyeing the napkin the entire time. Kyle overrides the order and changes it to another item on the menu. The name cherry cocktail promises something fruity.

Auston’s fingers spastically twitch, wanting something to grab or a pen to click. He wouldn’t know if Mitch has the same sentiments because he’s still making direct eye contact with the creased napkin strewn in front of him. Any grievances he had with the evening pale in comparison. He hopes the men at the table pity him enough to leave him alone.

Kyle, bless him, sections their side of the table off and starts a new conversation. It gives Auston needed time to recuperate and put on a brave face for the cameras.

He’s a bit more cordial the second time around when Mitch comes back with their order. They’re a relatively big table size, so another bunny accompanies them. A black drink with red tint lands in front of him.

“Courtesy of me,” Kyle says.

Mitch serves the remaining patrons with grace. There isn’t a comment they send his way that he isn’t prepared for. Every answer comes rehearsed.

Kyle swallows a gulp of the clear drink in hand. “So Mitch. Must be nice to see Auston again, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” Mitch hooks Auston with his signature smile, so holier than thou.

“Mitch and Auston are friends,” Kyle explains to the group. The table gets loud for a minute. Auston can’t tell if it’s in response to Kyle or because Mitch is leaning over the table and showing off his assets. The way in which he places the drinks down requires he twist his back around. A lot of the men are staring at him. Auston can’t place the emotion he has. It’s not jealousy but must come at a close second.

Mitch keeps working away with a grin on his face. Auston admires his composure from afar. All the attention Mitch is getting slithers over his skin. He’s scared to take a sip of his drink.

In due time, Mitch vacates the premises, leaving them to their own devices. Looking at Kyle’s glower, something about it feels premeditated. Auston’s not laughing. He wets his palette with the drink bought for him. It’s sugary, cherry and lime mixing together. No alcohol content to lose himself with.

Keeping his chaste, so it seems. Auston won’t complain, so long as it isn’t his cold hard cash on the line.

Kyle clears his throat. He turns to Auston. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” It’s a weird compliment to get. He chooses not to address it. Any attention and a whole cloud of second-hand embarrassment will be released from his words alone.

“Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

Auston places his drink down gingerly. “What proposal?”

“About coming here.”

Auston waits for a minute, expecting it’s another joke. Kyle’s face holds firm.

“Oh.” He tries rubbing the blush off of his cheeks, to no avail. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“I think you'd be a nice fit.”

A bunny waiter walks by, clad in heels and cufflinks. Their tail shakes with each step. Auston can’t render his face on their body no matter how hard he tries.

“You know I'm not like, on the sex worker scene though?”

“Never too late to give it a shot.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I think I got my hands tied already.”

“The bunnies will sure miss you.”

The first and only thought is of Mitch. Auston hasn’t interacted with the other bunnies enough to form a solid opinion of them. His next thought is to zero in on the word miss. As if he’s quitting or getting dismissed.

His chest constricts.

“I'll miss them too. I just can't be something I'm not. I'm sure you'll find your person though.” He hopes his anxiety doesn’t bleed from his words.

Kyle dabs at his face with his handkerchief. “It's brutal. I mean no offence to you when I offer, it's just we need to find that person who can get around the mansion and work on a deadline. You are, without applying, the best candidate.”

“I'm flattered,” Auston squeezes in between fake laughing. “I have a photography career to think about. May need those skills in the future.”

“Well.” Kyle’s tongue presses into the glass to lap up the drop balancing on the rim. “Should you change your mind, I will say all of our bunnies leave with giant portfolios. Does their career wonders. And I put a good word in too.”

“Too cheap to give me exposure now?”

“If exposure is what you want, I don't mind. My magazines are always open for new faces.”

They hit a lull relatively early. Not a safe lull either. Kyle looks like he has much more to say, like he’s just retrieving the arguments from a locker in the back of his head. Auston takes advantage of the silence to stand up and excuse himself. No arrangement of sorry’s and thank you’s wipe the disappointed look off of Kyle’s face.

With the low-light in action, it takes longer than usual to track down the big double glass doors keeping him from fresh air. He’s never been hungrier for a gulp of it.

The balcony’s furnishings are a lukewarm mixture of modern and the remaining vestiges of castle architecture. A white pillar balcony overlooks the outdoor pool, fit with artificial waterfalls and fountain water jets. It’s widely vacated, albeit Auston can see that the ashtrays placed on the end tables are fresh with cigarette buds. An orange glow beams out from indoors, punched out by the void of darkness just out of reach.

Wild-bearded men of success stand indoors served by the finest in all of California, their bargaining words encompassing other businessmen over scotch and rum. The cola he was drinking concentrates his mouth with sweetness; he expects a few canker sores to flourish by morning.

“Hey,” he hears from behind.

Mitch sauters in, rifles his buttoned cuffs and presses himself close to Auston. He’s not sure if the boy’s just sipped wine or if the distillery of smells all source from his cologne. It’s strong. It hides the boy that makes angels on the living room carpet using rays of bent sunlight. He smells of blackberry thorn and plum. It seems all of the vodka-based drinks have made a difference in his scent.

“Mitchy,” he greets. His mouth goes dry. Kyle’s conditioning is firm: at the sight of the ears and tail his body expects alcohol to be funnelled down his throat.

“You left the party.”

“I needed some air.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Mitch walks around him, placing both hands on the railing. Without unpacking his sentence, he hoists himself up, sitting up straight with his rear firmly seated on the stone cover.

“This is about Kyle,” Mitch continues.

“How do you know?”

“I’m the server at your table. When you left they were talking and I happened to eavesdrop.”

“Naughty.” Mitch bumps his shoulder with Auston. His lips parse, the tip of Mitch’s tongue poking out. Up close he smells medicinal. Someone’s braided his hair with cough syrup.

The muscles in Auston’s face tighten. He leans in, completely serious.

“Why are you here?”

“To change your mind,” Mitch answers, almost too quickly. One of his hands reaches up, masking the left side of his face. It takes a piece of him away from Auston.

His gut clenches at Mitch’s response. No cognitive dissonance could prove greater than that. In the sight of weakness, he shifts into a gentle being. Nevermind the part of his brain calling it Gospel that Mitch is sitting in front of him, legs open, inviting him to share a moment. One push and Mitch is free-falling into the saltwater and yet, he draws Auston in with round eyes.

“Why are you upset?”

“Because you’re going to leave and I don’t think you should.” It’s no more than a whisper. “We need you here.”

As if to accentuate his point, he removes his ears. It’s the first time Auston’s seen his head plain that evening. There’s no grooming in light of a photo shoot. It’s Mitch’s natural scruff on display, contoured by the stars behind him.

“You don’t need me here, you want me here,” Auston corrects him.

“Same thing.”

“I’m just not a sex worker. It’s not my thing.”

Mitch lowers his head, pressing it into Auston’s torso. It tightens the tie around Auston’s neck like a noose. “I know.” His voice is hard. “But Kyle thinks you can do better.”

“I’m can’t do even half the things you do.”

“You don’t have to be. You’re fine as is.” It must be liquid courage, it must be. Mitch’s affectionate nature bursts out of his chest. Auston can’t say it isn’t working.

“Why do you care?” Auston can’t help but ask. It’s more to stroke his ego. He watches Mitch’s throat bob as he swallows, always a stickler for details.

“Because you’re a good person.”

“That’s it?”

Mitch smacks his shoulder. “I won’t read out your resume for you. You know I’m right.” He slides off the ledge, almost dislodging his cotton tail in the process. “Good people deserve good things. After all those ladders you’ve had to climb maybe this is that next step. Kyle’s never been wrong in helping a person in need.”

Auston crosses his arms. “But I’m not in need.”

“I don’t just mean financially, you know.”

Mitch’s hands fasten around his rear just beside the tail. His hands stroke the wrinkles until they vanish. Any sign of helplessness crumbles into dust.

“I know,” Auston says.

Mitch gets very close. His lips reach up and tap the corner of Auston’s mouth.

“Promise you’ll think about it. For me.”

It becomes clear then that there’s something else on the table. Feeling the heat of Mitch’s lips on his own may be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

 

Kyle’s where he left him, poking at the cheese platter with one hand and swirling a glass of wine in the other. The second round of drinks must have come while he was out. Auston pulls up with Mitch in tow.

“Hey, Kyle,” he reintroduces. He turns around to get a second opinion only to find Mitch has started talking to another guest. It hurts, seeing Mitch cough up fake laughs for all of the compliments they dish out.

“Auston. I saw Mitch go out after you, is everything okay?” Kyle answers.

“Fine. I thought more about your offer.”

He seats himself before he continues. It’s the polite thing to do but being at eye-level with Kyle sets the fear inside his chest on fire. He has no upper hand.

“So what’s on the table here?” Auston says.

“I would just have you on staff. Serving clients at parties, filling in the missing spots for photos. Nothing too drastic.”

“I guess my main concern is not being able to work.” Auston gnaws at the inside of his cheek, hanging his head down.

“Well, we can remedy that. We have photographers in and out all the time. If you want assignments then we can squeeze that into every day.”

He looks up. “Really?”

“Trust me, they’d appreciate the extra help.”

It’s one worry crossed off but Auston makes it clear Kyle hasn’t hooked him from the mouth yet.

“But it’s not just that. It’s everything. The nudist art--“

Kyle’s face sours with the still wine swirling in his mouth. He swallows his drink and waves his hand. “Oh God no. No, I would never ask that of you. You’d be for odd jobs. Only our experienced bunnies go headfirst into that stuff.”

“So I’m just around for the time being?”

“You would still have to sign a contract saying you’ll follow the rules but they’re very simple. It’s all precautionary so I don’t get sued.”

“Alright.” Auston chews on his tongue, mulling his options over.

Kyle fishes an object out of his coat pocket. It’s a tiny pocketbook with a pen slipped in the spine. He flips the cover open and finds a clean sheet.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now. How about I schedule you for a fitting? For costume purposes of course. We can get your measurements and if by then you want in then you can tell us.”

“When will that be?”

“Uh,” Kyle scratches his chin, “two weeks from now I believe? Gives you enough time.”

“Okay. But let me clarify, I would be paid for my work here?”

“One hundred percent. I usually give the boys a thousand a week for allowance. You’re allowed to spend that as you wish and that’s with added food and board. We’d give you a room right in the mansion.”

Austons eyes go wide. “A thousand a week? Holy shit.”

It’s blatant bribery. Kyle’s waving a stack of dollars in front of his face to make him go cross-eyed. He’s more in disbelief at the numerous bunny-eared men inside all getting access to that kind of money and yet, still playing the part of lapdog.

“That’s forgetting tips they make and camming money. But I assume you’re not interested in that.”

Auston shakes his head. “Not really, no. Good to know though.”

Kyle taps his pen on the first line. “So I can put you down for the twenty-second of July?”

Everyone is looking at them. That plus Kyle’s pen starting on the first letter of July toss Auston overboard.

“Yes.”

Kyle writes the date in with a dash and a big capital _A_ for Auston. It’s probably going to do into a digital calendar. Once it’s there, there’s no going back.

“Great. I’ll send you the directions and time,” Kyle says. He offers his hand for a shake which Auston takes.

Bits and pieces of the evening come together. He eats a small salad Kyle recommends and fishes information from the high society men sitting around him. Everyone is congratulating him. He licks his plate clean from their compliments. They at least stop him from swallowing the knowledge of what he’s done dry.

Electric transmissions in his brain ping, some connecting him to his job and what he’ll need to tell Patty. How he’ll explain having a gap of no work because no resume of his will take modelling for Playboy with grace. He knows it’s going to haunt his sleep.

His solution is to drown those sorrows in the beverages that decorate the menu’s fine print.

Kyle excuses Mitch from duty for a minute to tell him good news with everyone present. Mitch’s response is to break protocol by bending over and hugging Auston from behind, shoving his cold nose into Auston’s neck. Auston keeps fondness from growing on his face by the skin of his teeth. Mitch, not so much.

 

Kyle emails him the details about the fitting later in the evening, after Auston’s been called an Uber to take him home to his ratty apartment. Auston does succeed at getting drunk enough to loll his head back and not think for a bit. As such, he leaves with a bellyache. Kyle advises him not to throw up in the backseat, something Auston laughs off with more bark than usual.

Part of him isn’t sure what exactly he’s signed off on. The many calendar reminders do the job for him. He can’t get a moment of quite without it banging around in his head like a game of Pong. If the hangover isn’t enough to spotlight his bad decision making than he considers his self-deprecating judgement a close second.

The tailor shop they direct him to is downtown, just off the avenue where his coworkers will buy pastries to celebrate birthdays. There, the lovely artisans usher him backstage where lines of fabric hang from tiny hooks frame the exit signs. Nothing on the rack excites him, all just meandering strips of apparel.

A few specialists come and go, carting away made-to-measure suits. Auston checks his phone about ten times from where they seat him, right beside the brackets of measuring tape. His hair keeps falling into his eyes, freshly showered and flopping around uncontrollably. He’s ready to sweat himself right into dehydration.

Kyle comes by with the coordinator five minutes after Auston’s all settled in. Thus begins the fitting process and the reveal of the infamous bunny suit. Kyle puts Auston in the compression lingerie first before he even considers letting Auston step into the dress. That alone eats up a huge chunk of time.

They tell Auston to be vocal but he’s not sure what exactly is a comfortable fit and what’s just his insecurities growing a voice. Kyle is usually the one stating problems, tightening the waist until it better resembles a corset. The stitchers all stand aside, giving themselves pointers and trying to collaborate with Kyle’s demands. All of them talk as though he’s thrown the towel in already.

The tags itch. He’s hot. He’s still not sure if it’s the right decision and all the buzz around him isn’t helping.

For a long time they consider saddling him up in a dark blue but Kyle changes it last minute to a simple black, just like the logo. Nothing eye-popping; at the height of sophistication.

Kyle stands beside him, tilting his head to the side to take in the whole picture. “Not bad. You pull it off well.”

“Thanks.” Maybe in another universe, he would even call himself sexy.

Kyle shoos away the designers away, stealing a moment for them to talk.

“You’re stressed, I can see it.”

Auston releases the bubble of air that had been blocking his air passage in one large exhale. “Yeah.”

He wants to try to spin the operation around; a take the horse by the reins kind of deal. The words die in his throat. From the nice dinner, the contracts, and now all the accessorization, he’s in a position where he doesn’t feel right shooting down such a generous offer. Walk away now, and he’s led everyone on weeks.

It’s not that bad, he rations. The clothes have to be the nicest thing he’s put on his body in months. He lets his hands fall down and peck at the wrinkles of excess cloth that need to be pinned.

“We have our photographers take unretouched nude images of the head, full body, front and back. Are you okay with that?”

He should’ve said something, Kyle’s moved on with the all clear. Auston’s mouth opens and shuts.

“I-I don’t--is this going to be public?”

“No. These images are just for upper-level management. Are you okay with this?”

Auston puts a hand up and gives himself a second to think away from all the noise. It’s a big decision and he’s one more reply away from accepting or declining it.

Kyle’s fingers don’t stop moving. They scurry over his jacket, pulling it together, then dipping into the pocket to grab the phone. Auston doesn’t want to keep him waiting.

“Yes.” The words leave his mouth and it’s a hollow sound.

“Then we’re all set.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed warnings are in the endnotes. This chapter was proofread without a proper grammar check due to length, so there may be some unwelcome typos. Let me know in the comments if there are any bad ones. Thanks for everyone who supported me in writing this. Enjoy. :)

Many people from the photography agency called to congratulate Auston about reaching the top of the modelling career when word about Playboy got out. He has no idea when becoming a walking sex dream became his dream but he takes their compliments with stride. It’s not the time to be picking fights he knows he can’t win.

Patty loans him his minivan to get the most important items from his apartment to the mansion. During the drive, doesn’t stop looking at Auston like he’s a wounded animal. By the end, it’s kind of pissing him off.

“It’s just temporary,” Auston tells him. “I’ll be back, and with lots of money this time.”

“I just don’t know if it’s the right decision.” Patty holds a hand up. “And I know, I know. You’re an adult. You can make your own decisions but this one is big.”

“I’m doing this for you, remember? It’s worth it, and I’ll still see you all the time.”

Patty slicks Auston’s hair back with one hand. “Just remember to take care of yourself. I’m one phone call away, always.”

“I know.” His voice is small. He’s run out of reassurances to give Patty. The harder he thinks about it the more his thoughts chase him. It’s an endless cycle that keeps him awake at night.

He wonders when working for Playboy stopped being about to do the job offer and became exemplary of his character. Anybody in his position would be drinking out of Kyle’s hands for a spot on the roster. It’s not a depravity or a sickness that gets him to sign. It’s just common sense.

That day is overcast. The sun pokes out every five minutes. Blue skies are spotted with white clouds, bobbing like bubbles on a lazy river. It’s the ripe kind of afternoon, when the smell of plucked grass, cucumber, and melon sits in the back of your throat.

Mitch is at the front door, hopping on the spot. He’s in casual wear: a tan shirt with large hoops for armholes. It hangs limply off of Mitch’s shoulders. It, in combination with the backwards cap, encases the fraternity look in concrete.

He pops his lips as Auston nears. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You and me both,” Auston says. He’s out of breath from heaving the plastic bin chock full of mementos and old photographs. The things he couldn’t be apart from, not even for a month.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Mitch’s arms open up. He grabs the handle on the other side of the lid and evens the weight distribution. “Your room is on the top floor, newbie.”

The accessibility problem in the mansion is more apparent than ever. All stairs and no elevator make for a nice picture in a magazine but makes the simple task of getting his belongings to his new room ten times more difficult. Luckily, Mitch picks up the slack. He’ll admit, it’s cathartic having Mitch’s eyes on him as they back up the stairs.

Some of the staff are waiting outside in a semi-circle pattern when he returns to the van. He directs on what they can take in. The bulk of it is clothes. He doesn’t know how it’s all going to fit in the single dresser they gave him. There’s a problem for him tomorrow, he supposes.

The room has nothing in it besides the bed and dresser. No wall art or decor to be seen, not even the courtesy of curtains for the one, and only, window. His bed frame is lifted just high enough that he can slide a bin under. The rest of his junk waits at the door, waiting to be selected and sorted into piles.

Mitch walks in with a few hangers Auston had bought just in case. He pulls on what Auston thinks are three panels of mirrors. The wall clicks and folds in.

“Oh cool, I didn’t see that,” Auston says.

He stands up to inspect it. The interior will fit ten outfits no problem, maybe a few boxes too. It will help with the strict space restrictions he’s working with, that of which already have both of his hands tied behind his back.

Mitch walks into his line of sight. He places the hangers on the rack and pushes them down the pole until they’re spread out. “This is all your own. If you want, we can go shopping together and pick some stuff out.”

He fits perfectly in the closet. It’s cute.

Auston’s face breaks out in a smile. “Aw. Thanks. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here though. Decorating might not be my top priority.”

Mitch steps out and closes the mirror door behind him with his left hand. He fixes Auston with a hard stare.

“That’s what they always say. You always end up staying longer than you think. And who wants to live in a blank room?”

“Well, I can’t be like you. Yours is all painted and shit. And what were those things--string lights?” He draws from memory. Mitch’s room was nice but the fine details are lost in the past.

“I’ve been here for years. If my room looked like yours after all this time the problem might just be with me.” He pushes himself past Auston. “We also do sleepovers so--”

Auston tries to grab Mitch by the arm but misses by a good inch or so. Mitch has the habit of taking two steps and ending up on the other side of the room. Always in view, but never approachable. It shouldn’t make Auston’s blood run hot as it does.

“Oh yeah?” Auston drops his voice low. “Okay, I see what you’re getting at.”

Mitch waves him off. “Shut up. Tell me where you need your things. I’m not being paid to look pretty.”

“You’re being paid?”

Before Mitch can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Mitch’s lips clamp shut and guard their pearl. A pair of hands emerge from the gap in the door. Attached to them are two bodies, Zach and a blond. The latter’s got a triangular face; Auston’s never seen him before. If he did he would remember.

“Hey, we come bearing gifts,” Zach says.

“Come in,” Mitch calls out, redundant, seeing as how they’ve already been welcomed in by the rake of Auston’s fingers, not to mention how they’re pretty much in the room as it is.

Auston greets Zach with a nod and the blond with a handshake. Mitch is much less formal, pulling both into a hug. Auston’s still playing by professional rules; his lips are pulled back. His hands lay flat at his sides.

The guests hand him two rectangular boxes. The bottom is much heavier than the top and is twice the size. Inside both, he hears the crinkle of tissue paper.

He’s a glutton when it comes to gifts and tears the top box open the second it’s in his hands. The tissue paper jumps up in his face when he lifts the lid up. Resting in a belly of white is black lace.

“Oh.”

Zach pats his shoulders, making him jump. “Sorry, it’s a house joke that the first thing you open is a lingerie set. That way you always have one on you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says with no heart.

“Don’t take it too seriously,” the blond says. An accent hugs his words and erases any charm.

Auston’s hands are full with the box so he settles for a shrug. “Oh, I’m not. I just don’t know what to do with it. I’ve never had lingerie of my own.”

“Once you put it on, you never want to take it off.” Zach smiles. “It’s good quality too. The kind of stuff only we can afford.”

“Thanks, guys. I’ll try it on later.” He has no intention of doing that.

The blond fellow steps forward. “And this,” he pats the bottom box, “is from all of us. Bamboo sheets, they’re really good. They’re elastic and will fit the mattress type we have here.”

It’s the better of the two gifts. He’ll check it out later and commission Mitch’s help to string it over the bed. If the lingerie is anything to judge by, it will be of good make. Nice and plush.

All four of them crowd the room up very fast. Auston takes a break to retrieve some of the boxes from outside and comes face to face with three more bunnies. He recognizes one of them: Naz. The second one’s name, the guy with the big blue eyes, is Trent or Trevis something. He doesn’t even try to guess the last one who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Nazem is the only one not fooled by his shiny new contract. He greets Auston like he would an old friend. His hands are firm and once the greetings are over he gets to work picking up cases and taking them inside. The other two follow suit, the unnamed one at the back of the pack looking visibly uncomfortable when Auston asks for his name. He has a feeling that, like the blond, he’s not a native speaker.

Once everything’s inside the boys are called away, Mitch included, and Auston’s left to his own devices. He’s got twenty minutes to himself before he should get a move on driving the van back to Patty. It’s still the weekend and the open window vibrate with the noise of lawn mowers cutting grass and songbirds sitting just outside. Add a strawberry ice cream cone and its the picture of summer.

It feels as though any energy that was inside his body has bled out in his sweat. He knows if he lays down it will be over and he’ll wake up on the other side of the day.

He keeps himself busy using box cutters to open his shit. The course sound of blades ripping through tape and cardboard keeps him on edge long enough to start unpacking, for real this time.

 

There’s been a lengthy back and forth between Kyle and him leading up to his arrival. Kyle gets into things Auston’s not even thinking about and does it in under ten words a sentence. It’s nice. One thing Auston has learned about adult life was that no one is truly capable until they are in their mid to late thirties. Doing business with Kyle was the first time in ages he didn’t have to be the mature party in the conversation.

Kyle tells Auston the day before he moves in that he’s scheduled a roundup of the bunnies in the main lobby at nine. He ends the email talking about how everyone is excited to meet him, the typical greeting you get when you first sign with a company. The excitement mutual on Auston’s end, though he still has his reservations about jumping in and becoming one of them right off the bat.

Mitch stops by the room to take him down at eight forty-five. He’s no longer wearing the backwards cap and has run a comb through his hair, flattening it to his head. He’s still got a lot of energy to work with, so much that it distracts Auston from the pain in his knees from all of the bending over and floor sitting.

They meet in the lounge area where both staircases meet. There have to be almost twenty men walking around--though at this point Auston’s not sure who’s a member of staff and who’s going to be posing with ears on their head in the next twenty-four hours. He only guesses because everyone there looks like a supermodel. Some are bottle blonds, others flashing their manicured nails. He’s talking about _actual_ supermodels: beautiful, slim, and tall.

They don’t wait long. Kyle takes his appointment times seriously. He strolls in with a clipboard wedged under his right arm. His first stop is in front of Auston, going one step further by going for the handshake and then bringing Auston into a quick hug that stops most conversations cold.

“It’s great to see you,” Kyle says.

“You too.”

“I know this is a first for you. It’s pretty casual, just play along.”

The bunnies separate from their friendship pods and form a line in front of Kyle. They move so fast that Auston quickly becomes the odd one out. He hurries to stand beside Mitch, the line they’re in wobbling and bending as they all try to stay in view of Kyle.

Kyle pulls the clipboard out from under his arm in rapid sequence and begins to read off of. Typical morning announcements: something about the pool being cleaned and one of the servers going down for maintenance.

“...I’d like to remind you all to use the proper bins for recycling and compost. It helps the staff downstairs more than you think. And with that out of the way, I’d like to welcome Auston to the group. He’s going to be working under us temporarily.”

A weak round of applause toasts his new living arrangements. No one looks particularly surprised by the turn of events; at this point, the announcement is just a formality. Some are more excited than others and the contrast of Mitch rocking on his heels versus William on the end of the row, looking at Auston’s ripped jeans with disdain, is clear.

He has no intention to change his fashion choices to appease the hunger of the readers or the other bunnies’ enjoyment. It’s all superficial in the end. The only thing his mind’s focusing on is the heat of Mitch’s body beside him. They’re so close that their knuckles touch. Auston may as well be floating away on a cloud.

Roundup pulls to a close and everyone heads off in a different direction. He tries following Mitch back to the bunny halls but only makes it a few steps before Mitch realizes he’s behind him and turns around.

Mitch’s eyes slant. “I think Kyle wants to talk to you,” he says.

Sure enough, when Auston follows his line of sight he sees Kyle is still standing in the centre of the room. A pale, late-morning ray of light shines down on him. He’s watching both Mitch and Auston without saying a word.

Mitch slides out of reach and continues on his merry way, leaving Auston to pick up the slack. Auston empties his chest of air before slapping a smile on his face and walking over to meet Kyle.

“You made it sound like the meeting was going to be some kind of bugle call.”

Kyle hums, “I’ve been told we have strict rules. The curse of tradition, I suppose.” He turns Auston around by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Speaking of traditions: I have some more paperwork for you to sign. How about we go back to my office to discuss this? I also have some terms and conditions we need to go over with you. It’s not rocket science but it makes life a bit easier if you know.”

“Sounds good. Right now?”

“Yes please.” Kyle gestures his head to the side, directing Auston to the double doors at the side.

It leads into the familiar hall with portraits and photographs spanning from the 1930s onward. The majority of them are in black and white. At-the-time relevant celebrities line up to be served by young men in bowties. Standards of beauty come and go in a flash.

Kyle’s office smells different from usual. It’s just recently been disinfected and the floor shiny. The beige cafe curtains lining the window sway gently in the breeze from the spinning desk fan.

Kyle motions for Auston to sit. The only available chair on the other side of the desk is a plush leather seat with white stitching. He waits until Auston is comfortable to walk around and sit opposing him. The mahogany desk is the partition between boss and employee.

As Kyle begins opening drawers and digging out stacks of paper, he glances up at Auston from the rim of his square frame glasses. “Andreas told me the move was good. I’m kept out of room-related business so I’ll take their word for it.”

Auston doesn’t know who Andreas it but plays along. “It was great. I’ve still got to put my clothes away and sweep.”

“If you need cleaning supplies just ask the groundskeeper. We have a supply cabinet stocked to bursting just down the hall.”

“I might take you up on that.”

Kyle doesn’t try to keep the conversation alive. He finds the form he’s looking for and hands it over.

“I just need your signatures in the highlighted boxes.”

The Courier typeface talks about contingent work and his work obligations on the job site. It’s nothing he doesn’t expect to see; he’s not going to be unionizing or using holiday time. He’s had jobs as a permatemp before when his first supervisor was on maternity leave.

The last page is about his postal service and a temporary address change. It needs his signature at the bottom and Kyle is quick to hand off a ballpoint pen that will do the trick. Auston dots his I’s and crosses his T’s and that’s the end of that. Kyle’s kind on the formatting and doesn’t leave much up to interpretation. The whole process is streamlined.

Kyle thanks him as he takes back the paper. He grabs a miniature stapler set aside and binds the two pieces together before stuffing them back into the drawer where he found them.

“Now, where were we? I did bring you in here for something else.” Kyle balances the clip of his pen on his bottom lip. His eyes squint, bringing Auston in and out of focus. “It was something to do with you working here.”

“As in job performance?”

It tips Kyle in the right direction, Auston can see the moment he comes to his realization. Kyle’s eyes always blow out. “Yes, thank you. It was about modelling. We’d love to have you in our upcoming shoots. Now I know we didn’t write you down for any long-term commitments but--”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Auston says. “I’ve done modelling before. It’s how I got into photography actually.”

Kyle rolls his lips inward when Auston interrupts him. He waits until Auston finishes to pull his chair forward and lean in.

“Yes, I think I remember you talking about it during your fitting. Anyhow, you’ve got the body for it. We want to have you on board for that and some camming in between.”

“Yeah, I figured. I thought I wasn’t on for camming though?”

He knows that when he doesn’t get what he wants his voice gets emotionally. Pouty. It’s his job to pick out the pulp that churns his words into gravel.

Kyle straightens his glasses. “Not in the traditional sense you aren’t. You’re taking up the spots our previous bunny had.”

“But I have to cam? I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh, let me see how I can put this.” Kyle chews on his bottom lip for a second. “Just take anyone from social media, for example. If one of them leaves without a word then their audience abandons them. All that hard work they put toward a consistent upload schedule is worthless. So we need you to cam just so that our clients know there is someone out there to replace our playmate. Now, I don’t care what you do on there. It’s all for appearances.”

“Got’cha.”

“If it makes it easier I can put you on with someone else and you can shadow them.”

Auston rushes in. “Mitch,” he says.

Kyle looks like he’s having trouble containing his laughter. “Thought so, you two are close. I’m not sure what he has done for his routine but I’ll let you two figure it out. You might have to play along with what he says.”

“No problem.”

“That’s all, I believe. I’ll let you have the day off to fix your room up but tomorrow we start training.” Kyle turns his body to the computer monitor, pointer finger clicking the mouse twice. “I’m going to print off the house rules for you but since I don’t want you losing it in all the rubble I’ll save that for tomorrow’s roundup. IT should have your email set up; that’s where you’ll find your schedule if I don’t say anything the morning of.”

Auston drums his fingers on the top of his knees. “Great.”

“The restaurant is open for lunch from eleven to two and dinner from four to six. Curfew is nine. You’ll figure it out. Now, I’d love to stay and talk but I have a conference in ten.”

“I’ll leave you be then.” Auston stands up and offers his hand for one final shake. It feels like the appropriate thing to do after signing papers. Kyle returns the gesture despite his hand feeling a bit loose.

Auston tucks his chair into the desk and walks to the door. It’s not until his hand is  on the knob that he pauses and turns to Kyle.

“Um, how do I get back to the wing?”

Kyle doesn’t look up. “Keep going until you reach the end of the hall, then turn right and the stairs should be right there.”

“Thanks,” Auston says. He’s out of the office before he can bother Kyle further.

 

Even with his cheap, utilitarian furniture padding the room it still looks so empty. He has too much space to fill and the lack of colour makes it totally obvious. He’d love to have something on the walls to give it more life but all of his posters are back at the apartment. He figured the process of taking them down one by one, boxing them up, and transporting them to the mansion only for them to be removed in a month’s time was not worth it.

He stays put for twenty minutes, then hears a hand rapping on the door. It’s all the motivation he needs to get up out of bed to answer. On the other side is Tyler and Kappy, both recognizable from the beach day.

“Hey,” Kappy says. “Mitch said you were still here. We were wondering if you wanted to join us for lunch.”

Auston blinks once. “Oh, uh sure. Do I need my wallet?”

“God no,” Kappy answers quickly. “Come on, we’ll take you down.”

They tell him to close his door behind him but as far as he’s aware there’s no lock. Kyle looks to go by the honour system.

“The older bunnies have keys,” Kappy says and leaves it at that.

They go down to the ground floor, out past the centre lobby to the right wing of the building. He can tell it’s the part of the building that got new renovations by the change in architecture. He’s eager to see what it looks like inside as the restaurant was always something that was off-limits back when he was a photographer.

They take him to a quaint room, with double doors and pretty decor on the handles. It doesn’t prepare him for the interior, all dark walls and mason light jars. It’s an Instagram-worthy place, setting a dark mood; that kind of seductive pull that is emblematic of the Playboy brand.

He doesn’t try to get fancy with his orders and goes for a grilled cheese with a side of potato chips. Kappy and Tyler come together for a combined order of greens with a kale smoothie.

A slice of grilled cheese is one of those things he orders when he’s in a strange restaurant and can’t judge the quality of the food yet. It’s idiot-proof, even for him. The assembly line with the chefs is open so he can look in and watch them slide butter around the skillet to help it melt. He doesn’t see what they’re doing with the cheese but it comes out with that perfect pull-apart gooeyness he’s never been able to achieve.

It’s a sizeable dining room but almost no one is there. Kappy leads them over to seats by the enormous window. Outside is a rose garden that’s being tended to. The blooms are a perfect circular shape.

“We used to have fries, but we had to watch our diets,” Tyler explains when he sees Auston’s plate. “I liked them.”

“You were dangerous when it came to fries,” Kappy says, fork dangling in front of his mouth. Tyler shoves him with his left shoulder but says nothing to retaliate.

“You get a bit more selection when we have guests or private dinners. That’s the real good stuff,” Tyler says. He recreates the facial expressions of pleasure as he eats his salad.

Auston’s occupied with his own food. His taste buds are all mingling at the first touch of the toasted bread on his palette. It’s better than anything he’s made and eaten in a long time. He understands now why the bunnies don’t let people take them out for lunch: conflict of interests aside they got a live-in restaurant which chefs ready to go. He could get used to this.

Kappy clears his throat. “So Aus, we can call you Aus, right?” he asks.

“Sure. Most of my friends call me Matty though,” Auston says.

“Where’s that from?” Tyler pipes up.

“I was in class with another Austin. It was easier to go by my last name, Matthews. Matty, for short.”

“Alright, Matty,” Kappy says. “What’s on the list for today?”

“Nothing yet. Kyle wants me to start modelling with you guys. Says I’ll be good at it.”

Tyler looks him down. “He’s not wrong.”

Auston holds his hands up. “I don’t want to come between you guys and what you do. I’ll probably just keep doing photography on the side to keep myself entertained.”

Kappy’s taking a sip of water when he says that. He pauses, putting the glass down on the coaster.

“You plan to keep doing photography?” he asks. There’s something in the way he says it, a dash of humour.

He doesn’t want to sound like an idiot. He goes for something softer. “I mean, within my limits of course.”

Tyler and Kappy share a look. They’re having an invisible conversation that he can’t join in. Tyler takes pity on him. He sets his utensils down.

“My mom always says go in with low expectations and be surprised, that about summarizes life here," Tyler says. "It gets really busy when your schedule is full.”

“Well, I don’t just mean hobbies. I’m going to be working on shoots.”

“That’s--no. That’s not how it works,” Kappy says.

Auston bites the inside of his cheek. It would be so easy to shout back at him. “Kyle told me that.”

Kappy looks like he wants to intervene but thinks twice about it and keeps his yap shut. He returns to his salad, jabbing his fork down until leaves stack up to the neck. Tyler’s tongue keeps poking at his teeth to get at something stuck.

Auston doesn’t push them into saying anything, he finishes the last of his grilled cheese and grabs a napkin to wipe the grease off of his hands with. He’s lost his appetite for the potato chips.

Neither bunny says anything but they eye his choice of food like sharks do their kills. He knows he’s not going to abstain from doing what makes him happy, he knows that, but first impressions are important also. He wants them to stop looking at him like he’s a child.

 

He goes to bed, belly full and sated. Someone has been in his room when he was gone, but only to lay down his bedding. Already, the bed looks like something he could dive into. He sleeps like a baby that night and it has nothing to do with the note Mitch leaves behind for him.

The day after is a complete change of scenery, First thing he sees when he turns on his computer the next morning is three emails, the first of the three coming bundled with a whole spreadsheet of dates and times. He has to massage the bridge of his nose just looking at it. It’s all nonsense: colours and noise.

The second email is about scheduling requirements and the third from Kyle to meet him in his office in twenty minutes. It leaves him just enough time to get dressed, brush his teeth, and roll a pair of socks up on his feet. He’s at the doors in fifteen, waiting to be let in. On the other side, he hears Kyle’s rumble as he answers a phone call.

Kyle’s all dressed up in a pinstripe button up, pulling a suit jacket over his shoulders as he greets Auston. “Walk with me,” he says as he leads Auston out of the office and into the winding hallway.

Kyle takes them both outside to the backyard garden. The pool cleaners are waving around their mesh nets, waving at them both as they walk by.

“We had peacocks, a long time ago,” Kyle says out of the blue. “Lots of them were rescues but even we know when we’re in over our head. So, we kept the birds of paradise instead.”

“That’s--yeah, I remember reading about them once.” It was something about flamingos. He doesn’t see them around, however.

“They’ve been here long before I have; I bought into the business but also the family. I think it’s important we follow tradition, don’t you?” He turns to Auston.

“Of course.”

They follow a path of stone slabs around the back of the mansion. They’re bracketed in by large hedges and budding flowers. Patrick did some work back here; Auston remembers seeing the photos of Willy flirting with nature’s bounty.

He hands Auston a thick sheet of paper. The ivory colour brings out the black ink of the words. Already, Auston’s eyes stick to the numbered points.

Kyle levels Auston with a hard stare. “I know your stay here is temporary but we have rules to go over. They are your handbook to life here in the mansion and I want you to take them seriously. I make no exceptions for any of the other playmates.”

It’s a lot to take in at once. He meets Kyle’s eye-line, waiting for an explanation. Kyle takes the paper back and straightens it.

“It’s pretty easy to follow. Things like you needing to look groomed before going out, that includes the bunny suit for when you’re on duty.” He waves the sheet around as he talks. “No dating clients, no women in the building, no perfume, though I don’t think that applies to you.”

“No,” Auston laughs it off.

“No drinking any alcohol on campus, without permission, or in view of clients, you must be in by 9 p.m curfew and for roll call, and you need to fulfill your monthly cam, photo shoot, and video schedule quota that you’ll get on the first Monday of the new month. If you miss any scheduling you don’t get your pay under the terms we agreed on.”

Auston brushes off the concerning information, choosing to focus on the final point.

“Quota?”

“Yes, thanks for reminding me. Did you get the emails from IT? It should come in the form of a spreadsheet.”

“Yeah, I did. I don’t understand most of it.”

“Understandable. I’m giving Zach a day off so that he can walk you through your responsibilities. It’s all do-able. You start small and work your way up. That’s how you earn your pay.”

They walk around the bend, coming back into view of the property.

“Auston?” Kyle calls his attention back to him. “Do you understand?”

Auston sputters, “yes sir.”

“Great, so that’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow at round-up. Let Zach know if your room needs any adjustments and it’ll find its way to me.”

“I shouldn’t just come talk to you directly?”

“I prefer word to go through Zach first. Not one for one-on-one conversations.”

Auston’s face twists.

“I recommend reading over the rules before you go off,” Kyle says.

Without telling Auston, Kyle walks back in the direction of his office, careful with how he steps on the watered grass. The once open aura retreats into itself. It’s back to business with Kyle, only Auston’s not on the authority to be pulling the stops to walk beside him this time.

 

The first week contains a lot of filler projects. Auston dons the ears and takes the side of the other bunnies. He’s not on their level yet, and the majority of what he does involves being the backdrop to make the group look more full from behind. Hair and makeup don’t spend much time on him and he’s allowed to goof off behind the scenes and keep spirits light. As far as contract work goes, it’s not the worst thing ever. It’s actually pretty great.

He learns to love lounging by the pool in the morning while Mitch does his exercising. There’s a built-in gym just next door to the aquatic facilities that he uses on the daily with Mitch spotting him. Keeping fit is the least of his worries for his time at the mansion but he enjoys not having to pay for a gym membership.

He strikes up friendships with the few bunnies that make themselves available to him: Zach, Kappy, and Tyler, seeing as how Mitch is always on the other side of the building for reasons he won’t tell Auston. Zach’s different from the others. He’s well-spoken and spends hours of his free time alone in his room. The gossip tells Auston that he’s writing his own novel. Zach discloses none of it. He’s head of the house and takes his position very seriously. No friendship comes close.

Friendship in the mansion is just a construct. In his first week there he sees a lot of turnovers. Andreas will be talking to Travis about something secretive and the details will reemerge in over-exaggerated fashion over lunch a day later. There’s a price on privacy. The best way to protect yourself is to say nothing at all.

The bulk of the teasing toward Auston concerns his modelling virginity. It’s the kind of insults that children throw on the playground; all juvenile in nature. He brushes them off and tries to focus on more important things, like getting some alone time in with Mitch. It feels like some obstacle is always getting in their way, keeping their magnetism out.

As he said, he has friends. He has a social life and a phone to do with what he pleases. Working with a company is tough love, but when the love that brings you to a company’s doormat is hiding behind closed doors and marketing brands, it’s difficult to be appreciative of what he does have besides those few minutes in the morning when his legs are submerged in salt water and Mitch’s head pokes out.

He may not be model material at heart but he knows he’s something for Mitch. Mitch is terrible at acting and worse at pretending Auston’s advances don’t make his heart leap out of his chest.

 

Auston’s morning schedule gets sent at six in the morning on the daily. He’s up at seven, sticking a toothbrush into his mouth as he looks over the series of commitments. A lot of it comes down to training. All for public appearances. It becomes a test of stamina, learning how to place one foot in front of the other to make his hips stick out and infusing his words in silver. It’s not something he anticipated from a company that budgets its daily expenses around trips to the salon.

Wednesday is different. He’s booked for a photo shoot at nine with Mitch. A patented name sits underneath the direct details in the cell. Besides that, his column is separated into two big chunks. Mid-day he’s free.

A hot flash ignites inside of his chest. It’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for. A chance to leave the backdrop where he’s spending time fattening the crowd and actually doing something productive with the many hours dangling off his fingers. More importantly, he’s going to see Patty. Missing him has been like having a rib taken out from him; he could be convinced that the ache of loneliness is permanent.

Auston flags down a member of staff to take him to the cam rooms, yet another part of the building Kyle’s been pushing for him to get reacquainted with for his debut. He can’t stand the place; one look at synthetic eyesores in the shape of fake potted plants and all he can think about is being in his doctor’s office waiting for his prescription to be filled.

He wants to nurture the part of him thirsty for new experiences but it’s all so daunting. The few times he’s been in close proximity to Mitch (very close, mind you) is the height of his sexual activity as of late and yet, when the shoots of his fingers make contact with the knobs in the office space he feels violated. There’s a reason he went into photography and not modelling.

Corridor C has the whole photography set-up outside, with water canisters propped up next to teeny ottomans. The disembodied legs of a tripod make Auston feel at home. He pushes his way inside. A large matte painting is tethered into the ground using little plastic pegs. The background colour is a lovely red. Rich but glossy.

Auston’s unsure of how to approach any of the employees in the room. It’s not helped by the fact that he’s trying to find a familiar face but is unable to. It looks like a whole other production company. And just when he thinks an employee has spotted him it turns out they’re unzipping camera bags or testing equipment in view of him.

Auston ends up stopping the first man to walk into the room: a tall fellow carrying a drink tray in his left hand, all iced coffees.

“Excuse me,” he asks, “what can I do to help you guys with set up?”

“Uh,” the man looks him down. Auston’s only in his skinny jeans. He didn’t go in expecting work casual but even if he did his wardrobe wouldn’t have the items for it. Kyle assured him any suit jackets and ties would just go to waste when the mansion had the top fashion chains in the country eating out of the palm of their hand.

“I think we’re good here. Bill?”

A man with shaggy blond hair looks up. His eyes are rimmed red. One look at Auston and his whole body tremors.

“Should we be sending our subjects over for makeup?” The man asks.

“Yes! Yes please, go go. You only have twenty minutes.” Bill shoves Auston back without warning. With all the cords and outlet strewn across the carpet, Auston comes short of tearing down the whole set when he trips.

“Makeup?” Auston asks. “Oh, no. Well--yes, I’m on camera but I’m on staff too.”

“Your name is Auston Matthews, right? Otherwise, we’ve got the wrong Mitch Marner in there with Alexa.”

“No, my name is Auston.”

“Then you’re supposed to be with Mitch getting ready.” Auston opens his mouth to object. “Listen, I don’t make the rules, I just follow orders. This piece of paper,” Bill fishes it out of the fanny pack around his waist, “is saying you are today’s model. If you have a problem, go take it up with your company but until you can, please get your makeup done so we can begin.”

Auston can’t move. It takes a lot of brainpower to build back from all the short-circuiting. In the meantime, he lets Bill push him back to get the hand off of his back. Down the hall, he gets a strong whiff of hairspray and follows the trail to one of the two salons inside of the mansion for company use.

He takes a seat next to Mitch, slumping against the backrest. Mitch is in his own world, choosing not to open his eyes and give Auston that small comfort. Auston would think Mitch didn’t hear him come in if not for Mitch knocking his feet against Auston’s heel.

“I know I’m not a photographer right now but I wish Kyle had told me when they came in,” Auston says.

Mitch opens his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. The young lady in front of him pulls out a mascara wand and begins stroking his eyelashes with it. “Well,” he says. He stops for a second to keep from wobbling in place and screwing up the process. “Kyle’s really particular about this. He wants you to focus on your work before you take off. It’s fun though, I promise. Group shots are the best.”

He reaches across and takes Auston’s hand.

“Especially with you. I’m really looking forward to this.”

That alone makes a bitter pill much easier to swallow. Auston knows Mitch doesn’t have to stay behind and coach him through all the face makeup he has to put on, but he does anyway. By the end of it, his right eye is stinging. He’s trying not to cry off the artist’s work before he even gets to the showroom.

They get him in something that resembles scantily clad lingerie. He holds off on calling it that because it meets the bare minimum of clothing. It’s just a bunch of black string hanging on for dear life. Mitch’s isn’t much better. He’s got the white version of the outfit, albeit with a bit more glimmer. The translucent sleeves are pecked with rhinestones. It’s the exact opposite of the chrome-look Auston is sporting: the one that makes him look more like a sports vehicle than a live-in model.

Mitch walks him back into the room with a hand on his lower back. Even before the fill light’s been turned on Mitch is correcting him on how not to slouch and emote with his eyes, quote, “look at the camera like it’s your enemy.” The director of photography has them both cycle through some exercises, most notably finding ways to hide Auston’s forehead using hands and hair. They decide to have him keep his chin up for most shots, with the adverse effect of him having to force his shoulders back until their ache.

It’s a lot of waiting around followed by more waiting and then a single shutter, rinse and repeat. The lace of his outfit is digging into his skin and in the pause between shots, he tries lifting one of the strings only to find an angry red line underneath.

There’s no official start just as there’s no official end. They see what he can do and go from there.

“Black, could’ja scoot over a bit?” Bill asks, snapping his fingers like Auston wasn’t already paying attention to him. “We need you to really lean on him for support.”

No professionalism. They can’t even afford the courtesy to call him by his real name. He would’ve never shown the same disrespect in their shoes. His subjects were always people, not objects to maneuver around at will.

He complies because he’s not going to make a fuss over the director’s design choices. Plus, his opinion isn’t exactly unbiased. He’s still fuming over being on the other side of the camera, arranging Mitch in every flattering position under the sun.

Bills tsks at the change in positioning. He leaves his post and gets closer, oblivious to Auston’s glaring.

“Black, can you crouch over white?”

Auston pulls himself over Mitch, who’s laying on his back looking up at him. They’re in a compromised position that juts their groins together like two puzzles pieces making a whole. That description romanticizes what’s in truth a very uncomfortable, very _loaded_ confrontation. Mitch’s eyes look so big up close.

“White, roll over, would ya?”

Mitch complies, throwing his face into the cushion they’re under. Auston can smell his aftershave closer now than before.

“There we go. Black, put your hand on the back of his neck and then focus your eyes on the back of his head.”

Auston looks down, trying to assess what it is they’d like them to do. His crotch is already rubbing against Mitch’s ass. The only real defence from the truth is not having to look at it, something they want to take from him.

“Is this really necessary?” Auston speaks up. He eyes the owner of the closest camera, who’s spreading out the legs of his tripod with one hand. “I’m off balance.”

Bill’s voice answers from behind him. “Yes. Now stand still.” The teeth in Auston’s mouth are grinding together.

Whatever team they have working behind the scenes ride him like he’s some wild bronco. Once they’re able to nail down that he’s the difficult one, they put him under strict restrictions. They’re always tugging on his clothes to move him into place, occasionally asking Mitch to do the honours to speed up the process.

As they’re finishing and the crew is packing up, Bill comes by again. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” is all he says. He has a half-smile on his face as he says it, and speaks just loud enough for most people to overhear. It must be for brownie points, it has to be. The shoot did everything it could to expose Auston for his lack of beauty for over an hour and a half.

 

The one photo from earlier is as uncomfortable to see as it is to shoot. It’s the most dynamic by far. Auston’s hands are about the size of Mitch’s cinched waist. He’s mounted on top, crotch balancing on the ridge of Mitch’s ass. The fringe of his bangs hides his eyes. Mitch is looking up at nothing in particular but the angle presents it as something far more sexual.

“Fucking like bunnies,” someone says. It’s supposed to be a joke but gets a bit to active in the crowd. Now it’s just the name of the photo. They smear it in permanent marker on the prints they show Kyle, who hums at the curvy letters spelling out every position. Mitch and Auston sit in the back by the window drapes, picking at their nails. It’s like being back in the principal’s office in middle school.

Every once in a while, Kyle looks up and meets Auston’s eyes. Kyle will always do the same thing: push the square lens glasses up the bridge of his nose and then let his lips splice open to show a little teeth. Every so often, he clicks a pen and writes out gibberish on the stack of lined paper leaning up against the keys of his keyboard.

Flaws are pulled on the random, from the size of Auston’s nose in portrait photos to the alignment of Mitch’s mouth and the incisor teeth (they go so far as to call for dentures for future shoots). The person to blame is the one responsible for composition and exposure: the photographer, Bill. He should have communicated it better to them.

Auston stamps down on that need to voice his frustrations. Twice, his fingers start tapping underneath the chair’s apron just to work out the anger pressure cooking in his belly. Mitch notices and preemptively stretches a hand down to hold the palm flat.

The all clear comes thirty minutes later, when the chosen photos will go off for processing. The bunny fucking picture is part of the stack. Kyle choosing to slide it in the middle of the photo collection does little to hide that fact. Auston can still see the bent corner and streaks of black permanent marker on the bleed guidelines. It by far has the most sticky notes, all to be transcribed when the editor gets their hands on it.

He follows Mitch back to the wing of bedrooms, taking the time for a quick detour to the communal washrooms. The foundation on his face has set in, choking the life out of the pores in his face. The worst offender in the make-up department has to the stick concealer, drying into cement over the course of two hours.

He holds his hands out to get a glob of cleanser, the bubble foam looking like mousse. Mitch pulls out instructions on how to rub it in, dabbing Auston’s face to take off the top coat of foundation. It helps having an extra pair of hands to scrub away any remnants collecting on his hairline and around his ears.

Mitch reminds him to be gentle about five times. Auston’s more preoccupied with pressing into his jawline with cotton swabs. He’s thankful the artist skipped on mascara. Watching Mitch press the pad into his lashes, splotching the cotton bud black, makes blood vessels pop behind his eyes.

His feet rediscover the shag mat, freed from the slip-ons and microfiber shoe liners. His hindfoot saps cold from the ground that shoots it up through his legs. The air conditioning sticks to the tile pattern in the bathroom like glue.

He’s finally able to pull his eyelids up and just exist, not having to wear a personality that’s just an extension of his unfriendly nature.

Nothing Kyle says stops Auston from pressing his chest into Mitch’s back, linking their bodies together to create a pinwheel of black and white. Mitch disposes of the four cotton swabs he’s used, steadying himself on the edge of the basin. Without looking, Auston knows Mitch is staring at their two-headed mirror image. Unbecoming. Red by force of the nails scouring thick lines, pulling up the cosmetics by the roots.

In five minutes Mitch will make an excuse. He’ll say he is hungry for blueberry pancakes, cooked over medium heat on the girdle but without the golden brown touch on the buttermilk. Auston will unsuccessfully invite him back to his room.

He wants to count every hair on Mitch’s head like he would a newborn infant’s fingers, just to be sure his boy is still there. The Mitch he saw today was sure of himself but in all the wrong ways. He just sat there and took it. In the end, it has grave implications for whatever’s on the horizon for Auston.

 

A buildup of irritability becomes poor decision making. He dials Patty’s phone number, only for it to go immediately to voicemail. He doesn’t even get the pleasure of having a voice to comfort him. After the line beeps, Auston’s dried of words.

In hindsight, he doesn’t know what he’d say. The shame, the guilt, the embarrassment, it all adds up and becomes its own fucked up equation. Patty said he could call him about everything but this lives outside of that Venn diagram of correlates.

Just when he’s finally worked up the courage to call again, Mitch stops by and takes him down to Kyle’s office where he’s told he’s received his first direct deposit. Kyle has him check the numbers on the spot to make sure the amount transferred to the right account. It’s right there on the phone screen, under the crack.

Kyle’s not looking at the amount, he’s looking at the crack. “Are you going to fix that?” he asks.

This is the same phone Auston’s had since he was a freshman. It was paid off two years ago, but he kept it longer than he had to save a few bucks. It’s a memento of boxed wine and microwaved dinner times.

His whole world tilted. He was losing footing, sliding deeper into that hole at the bottom. Once he’s got that cold hard cash in hand, everything changes.

 

It feels like there’s no limit to Kyle’s control. Auston’s leisure time can get snapped in two for little to no reason or warning. It’s nothing unheard of in the scope of a working environment. Forfeiting his phone because he’s on the worksite is in the rules, he can’t argue with that. He can make dumb faces and roll his eyes all he wants but he can’t talk back. Any complaints have to be framed as negotiations or he’d take a verbal beating, not from Kyle but his co-workers.

Take, for example, the first Monday of September. Outside is still something that could be classified as a beautiful summer day and most of the boys are lounging by the cove pool in their free time. Auston would give anything to join them but gets stopped at the dining hall after finishing eggs benedict for brunch.

“You have portrait shots to be doing,” Willy says. He hadn’t said a word to him all morning, plopping down beside Auston just as he was getting ready to leave. His own plate of food sits abandoned one table away.

Auston doesn’t bother trying to keep up eye contact. “Can’t I push those back?” he says. The question comes dangerously close to being rhetorical.

“You’re on schedule.”

“So?”

Willy gets the memo quicker than Auston anticipates. He makes his way back over to the original table he was sitting at, mouthing something to Kappy who sits just across. Kappy tries and fails to look over Willy’s shoulder to makes googly-eyes at Auston without drawing attention to himself.

Auston’s just pushing Willy’s buttons, of course he’s going to do his job. It’s not going to be on Wily’s orders, that’s all.

He returns his dirty dishes to the washing station, blinking away the sleep congealing in the corner of his eyes. More than anything, he wants to run his face through a damp hand towel to help keep him awake. Sleeping has been a problem ever since he heard someone try to get into his room at two in the morning.

Knife in hand, he begins scraping his eggs into the compost bin only for a hand to lay flat on his arm. When he looks up, it’s Tyler. It’s strange seeing him with no makeup on. Usually he has some foundation or concealer on, even before breakfast. The steaming beverage Tyler has in hand might explain it.

“Willy is just upset that he’s being replaced. Four years ago he ruled this place and now he’s worth a dime a dozen,” he says in greeting. It’s so out of the left field it takes Auston a second to rearrange his words in the right order.

“Really? I thought he was popular.”

“Oh he is, but do the math. He’s the slutty type; the beautiful blond with no brains. We have about three of those. You’re like, a whole bad boy gimmick gone wild.”

Maybe it’s his sleep deprivation creating some weird delusion. There’s so much to pick apart in the sentence he’ll need to down a whole cup of coffee before he can even think about giving Tyler the answer he needs.

He settles for second best and throws a question Tyler’s way. “Bad boy?” he asks, pointing at himself.

“You’ve got swagger but you’re still down to earth. People _like_ that, they always have.”

“I’m not a novelty,” Auston says back, because he isn’t.

“You’re special, that’s what you are. You’ll find your niche and then in a year’s time have your own cult following, at least that’s what happened to me after I swapped agencies.”

Auston sticks his tongue in the inside of the left cheek, pausing for just a second. “I’m here as a temp, remember?”

Tyler notices he’s hit something sore. He takes a long sip of his hot drink.

“That’s what I thought too,” he replies. He throws it out there, refusing to so much as taper the casual-feel to his words.

The muscles in Auston’s jaw tense. His plate’s been scraped clean and he places it down on the ledge for the dishwashers to take care of. Tyler doesn’t say anything and something in the way he’s looking at Auston--pinched eyes bringing out the fine wrinkles around his nose--tells Auston that he’s not expecting a farewell.

Slack-jawed, Auston keeps a steady pace down the hallway to Kyle’s office. He knocks twice on the door and hears no answer. When he tries the knob, it’s unlocked. He doesn’t mean to but ends up pushing the door open of his own accord.

The splice in the door reveals Kyle bent over his desk, glasses pushed up close as he close reads a document. He has a delayed response to Auston’s entrance, waiting to finish his sentence before he looks up.

“Kyle, do you have a minute?” Auston asks. Kyle looks tired; he feels bad for barging in unannounced.

“Auston. Aren’t you busy with portraits?” His hand slides down the desk to where his phone sits face down.

“Not for another ten minutes, sir. I just had a quick thing to go over. Regarding my contract?”

Kyle sighs, “come in.”

Auston’s chest rattles with how heavy his breathing is. He takes a seat across from Kyle and laces his hands together to keep them occupied.

“I’ll be quick, I’m still a temporary worker, right?”

“You are.”

“Because I was talking to Tyler and he says he stayed longer?”

“Yes, you can do that.”

“But I’m still on a fixed contract?”

Kyle takes his glasses off, crossing the hinges. “Your contract is set to expire under the terms we agreed on but most of our men stay on beyond their contracts for the extra cash and because you’re on exclusive contracts.”

“I’m on an exclusive contract? Why?”

“We retain our workers to keep you from moving to another business in the next year and a half. That way, there’s no time crunch. No love them and leave them type of deal.”

“Is that just for modelling?”

“Any contract work, really. You’re fine though.”

He shouldn’t be surprised that Kyle micromanages everything enough to slip some tiny clause into his work contract, even as a permatemp. It cancels out most opportunities he could have in photography.

He could ask to see the thing live and in person to confirm that what he’s hearing is true, but he has that innate feeling that it’ll only make him feel worse about his current situation. Kyle looks like he couldn’t be happier, finally giving Auston his full attention--right when he doesn’t want it.

Auston places both hands on the desk and uses it to push his chair out so he can stand. He’s gone mute, unable to justify words or mend the deep divide in trust that’s growing between them both. In the end, he rectifies his bad behaviour with a neat “thank you” that makes Kyle grin wider, if possible.

At the end of the day, it’s a well-paying position. He has living accommodations and a live-in social network. He’s the envy of the world. For that, he’d be a fool to pass up on more work.

 

They give him a social media account. That’s when he learns just how impersonal they are. Once in a while, they ask he takes a picture with his phone or brings in the photographers on site to snap him in action. The captions, tags, replies, and everything else is left up to the media team. They’re the ones creating this Lovecraftian horror that uses Auston’s face to sponsor brands and pose with the other models on pretty backdrops.

Ironically, now that he has the world at his fingertips he’s not able to contact any of it. His own accounts don’t let him access much of anything. It’s the child lock but on _everything,_ even life in the mansion. If he wants to go in the greenhouse to smoke a joint--as he learns some of his cohorts do--he needs to have a certain number of followers or he’ll need to take up an empty slot for photography close-ups or public dinners on the clubhouse catwalk with upcoming namesakes. His own phone becomes a commodity to bargain for and with. Everything has a price, even the decision of whether he can supplement his Caesar salad with a side muffin comes down to how well he plays by the house rules.

It explains much of what he sees, boys glued to their phone when they’re getting their nails clipped. Always posturing for their fans but more for themselves. That air of friendship has revealed a dark underbelly: every boy in competition with his next door neighbour to be the shining star.

Unfortunately, the veteran bunnies have a leg up on everyone. Kyle pats them between the ears at the roundup. He says the same lines like clockwork, asking the regulars pick up the slack. It’s the veterans seated at charity dinners in semi-formal attire as Auston and the others put on the next skimpy piece of clothing in the wardrobe, trying to be something they’re not.

Viewer and follower counts rise exponentially. He gets a semi-boost from being new but soon enough that ship sets sail. He’s no longer the baby of the family, forgiven if he steps on fingers trying to find his way around. He gets the same punishments as the next guy over, more often than not his personal property paying the price.

Kyle has a plastic ziplock bag he brings to Auston’s room the day after he misses a social media stream he was supposed to be in the background for. He doesn’t see it as such a big deal. Still doesn’t the next day over as he hands his phone and wallet to Kyle.

“This is just to keep you from splurging this Saturday. The boys have a day out planned.”

It’s perfect timing too. Auston was waiting for the opportunity to buy more furniture for his room. Mitch was right, even if he’s not planning on staying much longer the walls looking down at him never ceases to be anything but maddening.

He hates Kyle and yet he appreciates everything he does. Being Kyle’s favourite comes with his own perks. He tastes the glory of it that first week. Having food delivered to his door and trinkets slipped onto his wrist during roundup. He doesn’t hallucinate how other eyes squint in response. Kyle is just one man. He has a dozen bunnies to take care of and everyone is fighting for a bigger piece of the pie.

On Saturday, There’s a hairbrush missing from his room. A quick search determines someone’s been inside while he was gone. His camera is like his baby and he knows when someone else’s grubby hands have been all over it. Some of his equipment scattered during the move, that’s inevitable, but at that present moment he can’t tell if it was his or someone else’s doing--if they had the nerve to take something from the box.

He brings up the topic at roundup before Kyle comes around. Everyone is gathering, lost in their own heads, and don’t think twice about him stomping in. It used to be once upon a time that he turned heads, albeit for all the wrong reasons. That new glow has faded, he’s just another pretty face.

It doesn’t mean he can’t pack a punch. He stands in front of the main group with both arms crossed.

“Who’s been poking around in my room?” he shouts.

Everyone looks up. No one answers. He sees a few guys looking back and forth but can’t decipher the Da Vinci code they’re working with.

“I’m serious guys, not cool. Who’s been in my room?”

“No one’s been in your room,” Willy says. He doesn’t even look Auston in the eyes as he says it.

Auston walks over, muscles pulled so tight that something’s going to pop. He stares Willy down, using his height to his advantage.

He’s the obvious culprit. His snide remarks didn’t go unnoticed.

“Really? Because I think I’m missing a few things. And my sheets have been moved.”

“Maybe you just displaced something?” Mitch speaks up. He tries to nudge his way in between them but Auston sticks his arm out to keep it from happening.

He keeps his eyes on Willy. “No, I haven’t displaced anything, Mitch. I keep everything in order for this exact reason,” Auston says.

“Dude, just leave us alone. We don’t know where your stuff is,” Willy says. He’s rolling his eyes until they’re dangling in the back of his head somewhere.

Auston blows air out of nostrils in a rush. Willy stands his ground and keeps his eyes trained on him. Everyone else gathers around; from an outsider’s perspective, it looks like it could be a dogfight.

“What’s going on?” a voice calls out. In seconds, he’s identified it as Kyle’s.

He knows he should feel some form of security in place of his usual respect for Kyle’s antics. It’s there, but weak. It also comes packaged with fear, fear that Kyle is going to take the golden child’s word over his.

“Someone’s been in my room, touching my stuff,” Auston says, making the conscious decision to not sugarcoat his words in front of the boss. Kyle’s mature enough to handle the truth without the mumblings, the um’s and uh’s that all make out his staff to be his inferiors. It pays off, somewhat; Kyle looks very confused.

“Really?” Kyle turns his head to the group. Everyone averts their eyes.

Willy steps forward. “Sir, I don’t know what he’s saying but we haven’t touched any of his stuff.”

“So my things just mysteriously disappeared?”

Kyle clears his throat. “Boys, I don’t want any infighting. We don’t have to race to assumptions here.”

Auston reels around to throw his face into Kyle’s. “Tell them to stay out of my room!”

That’s the first time he sees Kyle’s face harden into something unfamiliar. The bunnies surrounding them give Auston space to breathe by taking two steps back. It’s the perfect perimeter for Kyle’s words to go unheard but the tone to resonate with the whole group; a rumble of a thundercloud whose belly is full of rain.

“Auston, while I understand this is stressful I ask you be respectful. We haven’t had any problems until now,” Kyle says. “Email me what you’re missing and we’ll take care of that _without_ confrontation.”

Auston would love to, really, the only problem is he doesn’t know exactly what’s been taken. It’s all speculation, fathered by a dislike of the grand majority of his co-workers. He tries not to let it show on his face.

“Alright, thank you.”

Kyle pats his shoulder. “Moving on, let’s begin our announcements. Auston, you can move to the back, this doesn’t concern you.”

The group moves as a collective, shouldering Auston back until he’s looking for a window in between pressed shoulders. There’s no room for him there.

 

Model status waits for no one, not even the packs of bunnies out on the town, meeting with locals for selfies and autograph signing. Auston remembers being a freshman in college and seeing that the mansion would throw charity balls to get down to earth with the people. Rebranding sexuality as they called it, advertising safe sex practices and paying to dress down in galas and rub shoulders with big names in California. They spent a lot of time schmoozing both the old financial executives and the up and coming youth who were looking at the magazines to earn a sense of self-image. Being in the middle, nothing appealed to him.

The first time he heard about going downtown for a shopping spree he wasn’t interested, that was until he realized it was his first big break from monotonous life at the mansion.

Leading up to the event, he’d had to get his outfit approved by two others first. The selection process alone took twenty minutes. Zach’s opinion of an outfit is something defining, sharp even. If he had it his way, all of Auston’s clothes would be in the garbage can.

Zach’s mission is to buy Auston some “acceptable” shirts and pants. His authority goes without saying. One word from Zach and everyone else in the group parts in different directions. Groupthink. Auston hasn’t been here long enough to decide whether or not he should be playing along. On top of that, Kyle advocates for the whole thing, telling Zach to spend anything and everything if need be. He’s been breathing down Auston’s neck to swap the sneakers for loafers for weeks now.

They take Auston’s measurements in the first store they step foot in. He steps into tape that pulls his neck and bust in from under his armpits. It’s uncomfortable from beginning to finish. Zach’s stepping over himself trying to pull things from the racks, leaving Auston to put himself down on the couch in the changing room at the back of the boutique. With no phone to distract himself with, he scans the items on display.

Many of the suit jackets air on the side of Kyle-fashion. No overly-big name brands but handsome navy and plaid cashmere flannel with a small tissue pocket over the breast. They look nice combined with the collar dress shirt Zach puts him in. The group look at dress trousers while they’re there but it’s clear that any item Auston tries on will be a tight fit without on-the-spot adjustments.

They let Auston pick out one rugby shirt to wear around the house. One. In every other department, he may as well be mute. He likes the comfort stretch in what he wears, meaning the embroidery sailboat polos are out. It’s not his place to talk, however, and Zach makes that very clear.

At noon they stop for a break in the food court. No one bothers ordering food, taking up a few tables beside the fountain and about six chairs. All Auston manages to get for food and drink is a Vitamin water.

“So how often do you guys get out of the mansion?” Auston asks once he’s about halfway through his drink and out of distractions.

Zach coughs into his elbow. “Not too often, I’d say once a month tops.”

“We make the most of it,” Kappy buts in. He’s filing down his pointer fingernail.

“Cool.” He jerks his leg underneath the table. “Are we stopping by anyplace else? I was hoping to grab some stuff for my room.”

“Aren’t you on probation?”

“Yes,” Zach answers for him. “Sorry bud, you’ll have to wait until next time.”

Auston rears up. “Okay, one, it wasn’t my fault that I missed the assignment, I didn’t have the proper training so it would have been a disaster anyway. Two, you’ve already bought things for me today.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. That’s work attire you desperately need.”

Auston could put in the effort to argue with him but everyone at the table already looks tired with him. He sticks his straw in between his lips and gulps down his water to busy himself. The main conversation moves on to the client base he hasn’t tapped into, which denies him the basic pleasure of human conversation for another ten minutes. He spends the rest of the time people-watching to run the clock.

They have the odd occasion of being recognized but it’s usually by teenage girls. That’s one of the target demographics they pick up and he learns to get used to it, fast. Luckily, being new meat doesn’t mean much. It’s the stars they want to see, those with the drawn-in eyebrows. He’s just the side salad to an actual meal, appropriate but not the main attraction.

By the end of the day, he’s bored to tears with two shopping bags of things he didn’t pick out to take to his room. The clothes land of top of his comfortable sweats and jeans. Eventually, one drawer gets so full he has to box up a few items to put away. He decides to get rid of the old band shirts he got at concerts as a teenager, smelling musty but also like cigarettes and mint chewing gum. There's no use for them in this new life.

There’s a sadness that comes with tucking them and his old pair of sneakers away where the sun doesn’t shine. It’s better than going through his gear to find all the missing pieces of his camera, so looking at it from an optimistic perspective is a better use of his time.

 

He’ll be the first to admit he’s being difficult, but can you blame him? A month into life at the mansion and it feels like there’s a never-ending laundry list of tasks he needs to accomplish. It’s not like he can say no, not really. It’s bad repertoire.

Once or twice, Kyle tries putting something on his schedule that is out of the ballpark for what he signed up for. A trip down to his office during the hours he’s there always resolves matters. It weighs heavy on his conscience, with the big contributing factor being how with each visit Kyle looks more frustrated. Whatever they had resembling friendship falls apart and strange enough, Auston’s not grieving it.

He tries wading into dangerous waters once. He sweet talks Zach into giving him an access code for the Playboy website so he can check the camming sessions. He says something about it being research and Zach laps it up.

The webpage Auston’s on is the home site for the company, with what looks like hundreds of thumbnails of each boy. At the top of the group are about a dozen names with a star beside them and a premium label slapped on the corner. A fake username sublets their faces: all nice beauty shots touched up to show off their best features. Ten identical profiles. The subtitle lists the available times for the boy and when he will be online. All but three are inactive.

Auston automatically scrolls the cursor down until it finds Mitch’s account and clicks on the name. Mitch’s profile takes advantage of his angles. Mitch has a look of plasticity that doesn’t set him far apart from a living Barbie doll. Auston can’t imagine what it would be like to see him in action without being in the room with him as he performed.

With time to buy, Auston checks out the two guys already online. He’s not expecting to see Naz cracking jokes about class divide nor Tyler’s process of fingering himself open. Both are as red as the wine lipstick they have on. He exits their tabs only after he sees the comments in the chat, all as perverse at it can get when the messages are limited to 100 words maximum. The comments were the one thing Auston didn’t get to see watching Mitch that first time. He’s glad he didn’t--they completely shatter the illusion.

It doesn’t help his own little situation. Knowing someday it might be him makes him want to guzzle back rubbing alcohol. The fact that some people get off on their pained faces trying to throw words in between the moans makes no sense to him. Tyler, in particular, had his fingers tearing through the sheets by his left thigh, baptized in his own sweat. That’s something Auston is never going to forget.

Neither Naz or Tyler looked sad, or disgusted, or scared. Their eyes were empty with the boredom that comes with a nine-to-five career. It’s the work of veterans who have been there, done that, and dusted their hands of it. He’s just not that kind of person, even if he can feel his dick chubbing up between his legs because of the implications.

He wishes Mitch was online, just to see what he was like and the kind of partner he wanted in bed. That’s what he tells himself over and over as he goes back to open Tyler’s stream and watch him try to answer his commentors with a frog in his throat. Everything about it is so wrong but he finds his hand slipping down his stomach, under his belt buckle to his boxers. It won’t get out, so nobody will know really.

 

When it comes to working Wednesday’s parties at the Playboy Clubhouse, Auston never makes the cut. He gives Kyle credit, the boss tries training Auston in small heels to build ankle strength. However, compared to the catwalk models they photograph, Auston’s shoes don’t compliment the shape of his feet. He comes away from the experience with foot blisters, something he would probably raise hell about it if it weren’t for the antibiotic ointment and the foot massages they give at the salon.

He makes up for his drop in experience with modelling of all sorts. Auston racks up a nice portfolio, usually singles. After the spat with Mitch, it’s obvious why he goes the lone wolf path. Fewer chances to embarrass himself on camera.

He’s made his peace with being colourful arm candy to splay on magazine covers. As his face picks up traction his only thought is keeping the popularity to himself to help scoop up more earnings from under Kyle’s nose. It’s a foolproof plan and he doesn’t mind the cameras. At least all the whirring and beeping from the digital cameras makes him feel like he’s at home.

He’s not gaming the system, just finding what he’s good at. And if he doesn’t have to slut it up on camera for a few extra bucks then it’s an added bonus.

That Friday, it bites him in the ass. He dodges Kyle for too long and in the middle of some promotional thing for an overseas brand, one of the lapdogs comes after him.

Travis pokes his head in. He has two plastic cups of water. He places one on the long table with the refreshments: mostly pre-packaged sandwiches with a side of apple slices. He takes a single sip. “You’re on duty tonight for the party, Kyle’s orders.”

Auston looks up from his hands. He’s supposed to be on a brief recess before he’s under the surgical glare of the light again. “But I--”

“Everything’s in your room, if what Mitch says is correct.”

Auston’s tries to let his face fill in the blanks now that his voice has died on him. He picks up the cup Travis brought for him.

Travis holds his hands up. “I don’t make the rules. For what it’s worth, I think it’s because Nikita has a stomach bug. Kyle doesn’t just send people in announced.”

They both know that’s not true.

“Forgive me but I’m not well-versed in this.”

Draining his cup, Travis swallows before answering. “The sooner you do it the easier it is later. It’s not that bad. At least they tip you.”

“Are you supposed to tip?”

A smile stretches on Travis’ face. “No. But don’t tell them that. I think that they think it gets them special attention. Not like we can date or anything but again, don’t tell them.”

“Will do.”

“And Zach’s got your back. So,” he slaps both of his thighs, “we’ll see you at six. Best of luck with what you got going here.”

“Thanks.” Auston lifts his drink. “Cheers, bro.”

He’s got much higher confidence speaking around the photography crew than he would being alone in his room.

Unfortunately, the realization of what he’s agreed to comes crashing down an hour later. He’d left to grab an early dinner and spent ten minutes poking at his food with no appetite to nurse. The chasm of his stomach was sealed shut and anything he did force down made him feel sick.

He can’t loiter around in the restaurant forever. The dishwashers scrubbing grime off of the plates can only be entertaining for so long. He has to make way for the next serving of guests, none of them bunnies. They are the paying hoity-toity elite trying to sink their teeth into something that’s not theirs.

In his room, strewn out on the bed is the strapless bodysuit. His is a solid black colour. Even as it lay draped on the silk sheets he can see the curvature. It’s comes dripping with a feminine look, the plump white tail sitting aside to be hooked onto the back. He doesn’t spend time dressing down the ears. They wink at him from across the room, the inside wire flopping over to give the impression of weight.

The first course of action is unzipping the casual wear he has on. He takes liberties with his underwear but obeys in shirking off his socks and pants to be replaced with the sexy give of the black stockings. Luckily, there’s no pair of high heels made to accompany the costume: a simple pair of black flats suffice.

He has to suck air in to get the body suit over his chest. There are two padded inserts just below the neckline that push his pecs up and together. It gives the impression that he has cleavage, with the plastic boning pulling his stomach in. It’s a corset pretending to be a suit. One look in the mirror and he sees how his lower half folds into a clean fit.

If it’s any consolation for him, it’s not the worst he’s ever looked.

Kappy is combing his hair back in the hallway mirror, the teasing ends long since trimmed. Auston enlists his help in fixing his tuxedo wrist cuffs and bow tie collar. He doesn’t ask but Kappy goes ahead and pulls the ears down on his head.

Kappy’s face sours when he examines the state of Auston’s head. “Are you going to put anything on your face?”

“I’m serving them drinks. This isn’t a Vogue magazine shoot.”

“I guess, but it helps.” Kappy’s eyes shoot down. “No heels?”

“No heels.”

“Next time, maybe.” Kappy’s lips press together.

Auston’s still floundering around the mansion even on a good day. He chooses not to rely on muscle memory for his first day on the job. With Kappy as his guide, he’s leaving behind the mansion and boarding the shuttle that will take them down the road to the exclusive club. It’s hard for his brain to not focus on the tap of shoes on the tile. More often than not he’s looking down at Kappy’s heels, waiting for the top piece to touch the ground.

He’s careful to not dislodge his tail when he sits down on the small shuttle bus’ vinyl seats. It’s a one minute ride tops, but he feels as if he’ll fall if he doesn’t sit down right now. Besides Kappy, the bus hosts a very small crowd: Andreas and Willy sit in the back, talking in their native tongue. Auston guesses they’re the last group to head on over.

Walking into the club as a guest and as a member of staff is like night and day. They can’t enter the front, that’s unprofessional, and take the extra five-minute walk to enter the side wing. The door opens to a long hallway, with mirrors from ceiling to floor and a red carpet under their feet. Being at the front of the bus put him in front of his co-workers but seeing as how he’s unfamiliar with the place Kappy has to take over and show him the path to take.

The unforgiving concrete walls and exposed ceilings conclude at the appearance of the first dressing room, inside a good twenty seats and a dozen bunnies touching up their makeup. The protocol has them dressed before they step foot in the door but it still looks like there’s so much work to be done. Only now does Auston begin to feel a little undressed. He’s not on par with the men curling their eyelashes with medieval contraptions.

Zach sees them come in. He’s on the fritz, with two phones in one hand and a pair of ears wobbling on top of his head, balancing on the thin line of falling off with how frantic he moves. He takes over from Kappy, allowing the Finn to take leave and get some time to himself before the show.

“Hey Zach,” Auston says. Without responding Zach reaches two hands down his chest and pulls the neckline of his bodysuit up. It deprives Auston of words.

“Matty,” Zach responds. “I trust you know the drill by now--these nights are very important.”

“I know--”

“You’re going to be serving our keyholder guests. Now, they’re all very important, people you’re probably used to working with. Directors, politicians, businessmen. They like their drinks and their men a certain way. So,” he skirts around Auston, “we need to fix this.”

“Pardon?” He’s not able to get more words out before he feels fingers carding through the synthetic fur of his tail. It’s uncomfortable but he stands still to let Zach swirl the hairs into a neat little bulb that juts out from his lower back.

“Your tail should be plump. Cuffs straight. Necktie,” his hands take charge and pull the tie tighter until it becomes difficult to breathe, “as close to your neck as humanly possible. This is your formal attire so treat it as such. These men are rich and they’re a stickler for details; one wrong move and you’re out.”

“Okay,” Auston repeats the words twice, letting his tongue curl for the sake of having something to do. More bunnies inch out through the gaps in their doors to join them. Some congregate in the hallway, three lining up behind him for Zach’s inspection.

He’s by no means perfect but good enough that Zach feels comfortable moving on. Auston doesn’t miss the tsking noises at the missing polish on his nails nor the flats he’s in while every boy in the room is sporting a three-inch minimum heel. What he can’t wrap his mind around is the raw excitement. There isn’t one bunny in the room besides him that’s keeping to themselves and licking their wounds in anticipation of the people they’ll need to cater to.

He ends up beside a pod of two bunnies, Andreas and a ginger. Despite their immaculate hair and clothes, they’re fixing each other’s suits, flicking away tiny hairs that the naked eye can’t see. They may as well be monkeys grooming each other for lice. The ginger notices his presence first.

“Hey,” he greets. “You ready?”

“Can’t say I am.”

“You’re fine. The new guys are usually eye-candy anyway.”

Auston’s hands reach around his back, tweaking at his zipper. “Do you have any advice?”

Without looking up, the redhead responds, “don’t wear red lipstick.”

“No, I mean, out there.”

“Yeah. Don’t wear red lipstick or have any holes in your stockings. Dubas doesn’t want you looking old and cheap.”

It doesn’t sweeten the deal. Auston tries to shake the anxiety coiling like yarn in his belly. Andreas walks over and without explanation tucks a hair away behind Auston’s ear.

“The big fish are already caught, is what he’s saying.” He continues fixing Auston’s appearance as he speaks. “You don’t have to worry about putting on a show or finding yourself a sugar daddy.”

“I thought relationships weren’t allowed.”

The two swap looks, as if it’s just occurred to them the rule was listed in the first place. “Oh. Well, technically they’re not,” Andreas says. “What Dubas means is you shouldn’t be all lovey-dovey, camped up at their place half the time and not doing your shows. A bit of flirting at parties is fine. It keeps them coming back, that’s why we have our regulars. You don’t mess with a bunny’s regular.”

Andreas steps down. “There. You look,” he tilts his head to the side, “better. Your bangs are probably your best asset. The ears pull them back too much.”

“Thanks, I guess. I’m guessing you have somebody you’re seeing tonight.”

Andreas points a finger at himself. “Me or Connor?”

“You.”

“I wish! I’m still new. It takes a long time to wear the good ones down.” Yet another “new” one. Auston’s seen a lot of them around.

“You snooze you lose,” the ginger, Connor he thinks, says.

Andreas looks ready to say more but Zach steps in. The stress of doting over the dozens of boys is getting to him, he’s working up a flush. One of his ears is crooked.

“What are you standing here for? Go, go!”

Both boys begin walking toward the double glass-paned doors. Auston moves to follow and gets a cold hand on his bicep, yanking him back.

“Not you. Kyle wants you to shadow me for the evening. To get a sense of the ropes.”

Auston’s relief is palpable, he hopes it shows on his face. He’d never admit it but he’s less than pleased to have to wade through the shark tank alone. At least with Zach around some of the attention will be diverted from him. He’s not going to be standing in the limelight for hours at a time.

Auston peaks over the heads of hair, looking and looking and finally finding. His object of affection, fixing the scrunch of his pantyhose up by the thigh, is at the centre of the downward-pointing chandelier. If cut, the centrepiece would create a pretty little birdcage to trap him in.

Mitch is in a drop-dead gorgeous blue. He’s not crowned in sequins or pocket jewels. He dons the simple satin costume with an extra strap around the back to support the padding in his chest. The shade he’s wearing compliments every inch of him: a lovely mix of colours that bead the sidings like the feathers on the crest of a peacock. Not a light colour but not deep. He’s close to ripening into that royal blue.

Auston wants so badly to walk over and speak with him but Mitch is already entertaining a few others. Moreover, the clatter of silverware and whiskey glasses twirling in the hands of a bartender can be heard from the other room. The folding of cards at the head of the table is the loud announcement to be ready to enter.

The Playmates line up, all prim and proper. Auston’s at the end of the line with Zach, one hand on his tip and the other up in the air ready to accept a tray. He’s using pointers he got from training during his first week at the mansion about how to walk and talk, but can only remember the big ideas. The rest are dull.

Already two feet in and Connor’s taking the coat from a large gentleman, leading him from the wardrobe to the seating area out back. A few bunnies have obtained trays: big, shiny things that sometimes are wider than the boys themselves. Those hours of practicing come in handy as they swerve in and out of guests.

Auston’s the only bunny not dressed down in a colour. His solid black uniform draws eyes. The crude looks scald him and make him pick up the pace, a habit Zach stops with a hand on his lower stomach.

“Slow. You want to give them a show.”

“It’s creepy,” Auston says. The whisper-shout is just loud enough for the one gentleman to hear. He voices his objections in a loud hoot that draws more men in.

Auston twists his face into a sour expression but instead of helping the men keep their distance it does the opposite. The more he throws his body around the more the dogs salivate. Zach only adds plus one to the equation. They’re a sight for sore eyes together.

And no wonder that’s the case. Every other boy looks like a toothpick.

Zach helps him up the spiral stairs to the second floor. Even though he’s the one in heels, it’s Auston who needs help navigating the steps.

“The more formal restaurant is upstairs, these are just appetizers. Guests here help themselves but upstairs you will be expected to serve from the kitchen,” Zach explains.

“So this is a drinks-only area?”

“Yes. You may receive training to become a croupier but with your build I think you’re better off serving guests than gathering in.” It’s a weird way of saying he’s better off wearing skin-clad uniforms than talking to people.

The crowds of people keep churning in and out in big black waters, shoving them into corners and the abyss of dress shoes and the smell of polish. It’s impossible to build an understanding of the floor plan with so many bodies crammed into one space. There have to be at least five entrances on the property.

The same hairstyles and cocktail dresses keep passing him by, the majority of which enjoy touching his back as Auston continues on his way.

When the bunnies aren’t serving patrons they’re blending into the walls like decoration. They’re surprisingly easy to miss, even with the rainbow colour coding. When Auston’s actually trying to look for them, it’s a bit easier to pin down the pairs of pink, green, and red ears. The second lounge, by the big nameplate, is where a lot of them are nesting.

He spies the blue ears and stops walking so he can laser in. Mitch is as pretty as he usually is, leaning on a table that has champagne in an ice bucket on it. His body is turned to the man in the booth, showing off how his waist pulls in and the effect it has on his ass.

The man looks so pleased with having Mitch all to himself. Auston wants to strangle him.

As he’s beginning to walk over, Zach slips an arm around his waist.

“Don’t. You receive demerit points if you interfere with another bunny’s client.”

“I’m not doing that,” he lies. “I’m just going over to talk to Mitch.”

He’s still trying to resist Zach’s pull, which earns him a jab in the leg. Zach’s precise with how he uses his heels to get Auston’s attention.

“You and I both know that’s not true. Whatever feelings you have, leave them at the doormat. You’re on duty, so straighten your back and follow me.”

The words are a ziplock, sealing Auston’s mouth shut. Zach takes him to a tiny alcove branching off of the dancefloor where people are swaying. Guests are trying to socialize over the music, but it proves very ineffective. Not once but twice does someone put their empty glass on Auston’s tray as he walks by.

He doesn’t have time to drop off the glasses before they reach the paying customers, so Auston tries to play it off as best he can. He collects two more on purpose to make the tray look more full. Zach doesn’t say anything, so he assumes he’s doing right by his role.

Finally, they’re by the section that hasn’t ordered yet. A cluster of rowdy men are gathered around the table, each talking louder than his neighbour in order to be heard. There are two ladies with them, both pacified by the noise. Auston feels sorry for both of them.

Zach bends over the table in a cute little bow. He begins unfolding the table cloth rings by the upside-down wine glasses.

“Good evening gentlemen, my name is Zach. This here is Auston, my bunny-in-training. We will be serving you tonight.” He’s got a sweet sucker attitude that draws the jackasses in. Auston wants to gag.

Auston prefaces everything with a neutral face. He’s decided that he’ll play along, just enough to fool the fools. If he tries hard enough he might just make it into his shtick. Naz functions pretty well with the lounging act. By not caring he’s attracted a few customers, all bidding at the chance to be the one to look after him. That, Auston doesn’t mind.

Zach goes on to check the keyholders’ cards. He’s preoccupied with checking numbers and addresses that he’s clueless to the hand on the back of the chair Auston is standing close to. Auston holds off, hopes there’s some dartboard situated right behind him keeping the men occupied.

Unfortunately, his methods don’t go down so well, a hand grabs him by the cheek and squeezes hard enough to cripple him. He leaps away, his head coming in close contact with the low ceiling, one ear bending as he makes his landing a good foot away. The whole table erupts in laughter.

Auston flips his head in the direction of Zach waiting for a reprimand of some kind. His superior looks in no immediate hurry. Auston stands in place and fumes, waiting for the table to quiet down.

“Sir,” Zach says, “we don’t touch the Playmates here.”

“Oh, come on!”

Zach shakes his head but not in a dismissive way. It looks chagrin, loving. The mother of a child that just walked into a wall on purpose kind of look. The men at the table eat it up. Some have the nerve to poke fingers at Auston’s deep-set blush.

He tries to smile and hope some of the fake joy translates into real joy but only falls further into delusion. He can’t be happier to turn his back on them, even knowing he’ll be back in a minute’s time. He’s seconds away from snapping at someone and it not looking pretty or endearing.

Zach asks for help on the rather large drink orders. Instead of bending over to place the glasses on the coasters he sticks his tail in the face of the clients and bends over the shoulder. Later on, he tells Auston it’s the ceremonial way of serving drinks, “the dip” as they call it. One try is all it takes to prove it’s very uncomfortable. Still, in the eye of the people he serves, Auston couldn’t be anything but poised.

But, he sticks to the role of an acting professional. He copies their orders down word for word, repeats his questions when they ask for his address, and yields no comments. He’s a brick wall. After three minutes of backhanded compliments, they give up.

Zach tells him practice makes perfect, which says enough to his performance. It’s the cherry on top of the, “you just need a few more weeks of practice” like he has a few more weeks left to give in the first place.

Zach’s hands find the base of Auston’s tail and fix the few misaligned hairs again. Auston expects praise but what he gets is “you need to answer more to your clients’ needs.”

“What?” His mouth goes dry. “How was I not professional in that case?”

“It’s not about being professional. It’s about being approachable. You want them to fawn over you. It’s what gets you the right kind of attention.”

“Zach, if that’s the right kind of attention then I want none.” Before Zach can correct him again he straightens his ears. They’re so big they flop around, adding another distraction to an already busy night.

“You’ll learn to deal with it. Just take what pointers you can. After the next table, you’re on your own.”

Zach sticks to his guns. He flies through the next orders and doesn’t need Auston’s help carrying them back this time. Instead, he sends Auston off to the west wing near the kitchens. A quieter area, according to this party crowd. Even despite that, Auston steps on two pairs of shoes trying to find a safe passageway through the inebriated nobodies.

A few of the head honchos are by the fireplace, sipping tequilas and letting their bunnies lounge around like arm furniture. Naz, Kappy, and the ginger boy from earlier sit idly by, drumming their fingers on their clients’ dress pants. There’s no work for them at the bar. Their post is to be decoration. Two of the boys go so far as to kneel down, allowing the businessmen’s hands to pet their hair.

Housepets. All of them. And they look to be enjoying it too. Their smiles tell all. On closer inspection, the man playing with Kappy’s curls is revealed to be the same shit-eating grin that was annoying Mitch earlier. He’s moved on to greener pastures and is now letting his fingers rest on the Kappy’s forehead, as if to take his temperature.

An elderly man excuses him and that’s the signal for Auston to move. The image of the complacent cotton tails rots in the back of his mind as he takes orders. On the way, he meets two married men looking down his chest and a pack of middle-aged women taking their time to scour the drink menu so that they may buy a few seconds to admire his muscles. One makes a grab at his crotch which he bats away. He humours absolutely no attempts to be curious.

By eleven in the evening his feet ache. He’s not even wearing heels. All around him the bunny farm keeps working, never stopping. Not even for a bathroom break. The pulsating waves of guests never end. Auston serves fruity cocktails and vodka shots until the permeating smell of the drinks fries any nerves still inside of his nostrils.

At last, he uses his one thirty minute break to inch his way into the washer room that’s beside the kitchen. No food is in sight minus the unfinished plates. Just the thought of scavenging for scraps makes his ears heat up. Not five minutes later he’s stuffing his face with table bread.

Imbeciles, jackasses, losers. All of them. A few guests play catch with a bunny’s tail while the others spill their drinks on purposely for a proper excuse to grope their targets. Auston falls victim to a few unfortunate touches. There may as well be a banner welcoming sexual assault strung up by the bar counter. What little manners he had going in are subject to wear and tear. As his table numbers rise into double and even triple digits his tone of voice mellows out. His mind is detached from the body. He’s woozy with the flashy colours and smell of cigars. He’s just come back from break and he already longs for the quiet of the storage closet. Even the mops and brooms made better company than these people.

It’s the wee hours of the morning when he finally gets excused. All the bunnies are herded into the dressing rooms to take their costumes off. That’s when he sees the toll it takes on their bodies. Right in front of his face when he walks in is a naked Travis from the waist up, his back striped a dark burgundy from the imprint of the body suit he was wearing. It bruises him up, marking him so harsh it’ll probably take hours to fade.

Auston meets a similar fate at his vanity. His wrists have little incisions where the buttons of his wrist cuffs have been mashing into his skin. As he’s rolling the pantyhose off his legs the crisscrossing patterns dug into his skin make it look as though he’s still wearing the damn thing. Like Travis, the worst is saved for his back and neck. The sweetheart neckline of the getup leaves his chest red. When he presses down it stings like a sunburn.

“Good work out there.” Zach pats him on the shoulder. Auston jolts out of surprise. “I was told you worked well.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m guessing everything fit?” Auston tilts his head at the discarded clothing to answer Zach’s question.

In response, Zach walks over and inspects the garments one by one.

“Okay. We usually freeze our pantyhose to make it last as long as possible. I’m also going to order you to move down a size dress since this one looked a bit loose up on the chest.

Auston sputters. “Trust me, it fits like a glove. I’m good.”

Zach looks up, a pinch shocked at the audacity. “We want to get you in as good a shape as possible. The tighter the waist, the better you look. The guys couldn’t stop looking at you tonight so that’s already a good sign.”

“But it will be too tight?”

“You’ll get used to it. Most of our bunnies have it so tight that a sneeze pops the zipper." He wrinkles his nose as if understanding how stupid it sounds. "Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Get a night of good sleep.”

With that, Zach excuses himself, the costume in hand. There’s no change of clothes in sight. Auston has to waddle out just to find a robe to put on. Just thinking about going a size down puts him in such a negative headspace he ignores any cordial greetings and makes a beeline for the shuttle to take him home. He’s never been happier to see the brazen knob of his room.

Once he’s in, he slams the door shut. Locks it twice for good measure. It’s the only way to stop his stomach from lurching as his imagination plays twisted fantasies of men walking in and yanking him by the tail.

 

They’ve had spa days in the past. They’d make him pick out nail polish colours for his feet and would run a razor down his legs to keep his leg hair trim. He’s really only there for massage therapy. They tell him all about the knots in his shoulders and back and all he has to do is nod and play along with whatever they say. The head therapist has a lot of fun admiring his tattoos and asks for the meaning behind all of them. It’s as if he’s never had a patient with a sleeve before (looking at present company, that’s no surprise).

There’s a different plan for him that Sunday. They have a team of three people that give him a good grooming, closer to the skin than usual. His legs feel slimy when they rub against each other, which gets a good laugh out of the few bunnies congregating in the room with him, all getting their own touch-ups done. He admires the dedication some of them go through, of ripping almost all of the hair off of their body to meet that standard of beauty.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll do it yourself someday,” Andreas says. He’s in the manicure chair beside Auston, soaking his feet in warm water.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Good on you though.”

Andreas salutes him and goes back to the magazine he has in his left hand. It’s one of those seedy articles seen lining grocery store cashier checkouts, going on about celebrity divorce and weight loss techniques used by the military.

Besides Andreas, the other two members of the room consist of Connor and Travis. Auston doesn’t have as good a relationship with them both. They’re Mitch’s friends before his, but they tolerate him.

“You ended up sticking around,” Connor comments. “I don’t know if I expected you to.”

“It pays well.”

Connor cracks a smile. He reclines back in his chair, maintaining eye contact with Auston.

“I hear ya. Once I retire, I’m going to go back to school. I’ll have my own retirement fund and savings plan. I’m already investing now.”

“I’ll be honest, I never saw myself modelling,” Auston says.

Travis is picking at his fingernails. “We know. You’re not the first outside hire after old Connor.”

“There was another Connor?”

“Yeah, he was a mess.” Travis looks over at Connor with disdain. “What?” Connor asks, “he’s old news at this point.”

Auston leans forward on his chair. “What did the old Connor do?”

“He was an aspiring model Kyle found at one of those parties over at the Clubhouse. I think he was one of the painted boys?” He turns to Travis for confirmation.

Travis shrugs. “Don’t look at me, I wasn’t around then.”

“Anyway. Kyle brought him in and did him a lot of favours. He changed everything about Carrick--that was what we called him--and he was pretty successful. Before me, he wore the green uniform. Green is for luck.”

Auston nods along, never processing the colours meant anything in the first place.

“I guess he wasn’t happy with a disposable income. Even though he was rich beyond his wildest dreams he picked fights. Eventually, Kyle took him to court after he went to the press.”

“Did he win?”

“Of course he didn’t, he had no argument. And when he got out, no one would hire him because they looked at him as some off-brand whistleblower. After that, Kyle was super strange about hiring people.”

“So the old Connor was the guy I was replacing?”

“No, after him was Matt, other Tyler and some other guy that left after only being here two days. That’s what you get for hiring insiders. They spend too long working their way up in the industry and come here like they own the place. You’re a bit better, barely.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Sure. You are doing good though. Kyle likes you. You got spunk but you don’t talk back.”

“Kind of like Zach when he started,” Andreas muses. The other two laugh.

Connor’s laugh trails off. “It gets better. You get used to it. No one cares if you’re a prostitute or a model or a camgirl nowadays. They look at you like, ‘wow, you work for Playboy?’ It gets you so far ahead. I don’t know if you want to go back to school like me but--”

“Not school. I want to continue with photography but I’m not sure if I can."

“That’s cool. The mansion hires a lot of us when we get too old. Maybe you’ll be on the dream team upstairs.”

“Yeah, maybe. That actually helps a lot.”

Connor dips his head back. “You look like you needed a pick-me-up.”

It voices a lot of Auston’s insecurities and relieves them just as fast. Still, that nagging urge to do some research in his spare time comes back later that evening when he’s taking a breather outside. He looks up the name Connor Carrick and gets a boatload of search results, many pertaining to the lawsuit under his name.

As ginger Connor said, he lost. There’s no participation ribbon in the law system. He’s ruined for life. The pictures from when Carrick started at Playboy to when he made the first page of the magazine’s July issue to finally those days in court when he was running on zero sleep show the rise and fall of greatness.

The piece talks a lot about the shift from traditional to digital media. Back in 2009, all the buzz was about limiting the paperback copies Playboy made and moving to the online market, solidified by the rise of the one and only Kyle Dubas. In his eyes, camming was the only self-sustaining way the brand could survive. Carrick argued otherwise and he was wrong. And he paid the price for it.

 

He should’ve known working at the Clubhouse was a red herring for a greater evil. Something’s, or should he say _someone’s_ , been active behind the scenes, picking apart his imperfections and turning him into some doll to dress-up as he pleases. He can tell when Kyle’s sticking his nose into personal problems and work problems alike.

Today, he’s got his first cam session and no one is willing to trade spots with him to get him out of it, probably on their leader’s orders. Having it be a collaboration with Mitch is not much of a comfort. He’d rather not do it at all. However, money is short. He needs the allowance to pay rent for his apartment and Kyle’s hoarding all of his profit until Auston will go online.

His breakfast consists of two orange slices and some porridge. He can’t stomach much else. Despite there being three or so other guys in the restaurant seating area, no one talks to him. He sits by himself, trying to psych himself up but unaware of the expectations laid out for him.

He’s done his research and checked out websites boasting a large camming population. Most of the stereotypes for camming hold up, even if the majority of the subjects are female. Playboy is an anomaly in that regard.

It’s nothing he would ever do in this lifetime. The thought of it makes him want to be sick. But management is putting its foot down and he doesn’t want to evoke the wrath of someone who controls his meals and pay, not after hearing about Carrick. He walks in the direction the right wing with his head held low, hands at his sides.

The roadmap of directions leads him to the dressing room. He’s only been there twice but the image has been burned into the back of his mind. All of the glimmer and shine, flashes of wealth beyond his wildest dreams.

His inventory of outfits is empty with exception to the ornate lace bodysuit he got on his first day. It’s equal parts lingerie and layer; add a blouse and it looks like a camisole from the waist up. Objectively, it’s a beautiful piece. All lace down the middle with an open slice to cleavage that’s made less exposing by the nylon and mesh insets.

The ass portion is semi-sheer and all spandex. It’s a tight fit, flattering on the figure but not something he would ever dream of putting on. Someone’s been taking his body measurements because when all’s said and done it’s a perfect fit.

The ladies at the salon are very kind, even to a fault. They sit him down in the closest salon chair and toss a gown around his shoulders. Like some mechanical hivemind, they move without instructions. A week ago, Auston might’ve protested losing his hair to the unyielding cut of scissors. Now, he can’t cough up much in the form of resistance.

They gel his hair the way he never does and give him longer bangs in the front to flop around. He’s looking at the image of himself in the mirror, dressed up the nines. This time, he doesn’t feel empty. His hands clench hard until no air can exist between his fingers.

He’s inhaling fire into his lungs as he walks to the seating area by the front door of the salon. He wants the busybody people out of his hair; needs a second alone. There’s a single row of three styling chairs in front of him. Using the vanities, he can tell the body in the first chair belongs to Naz.

Within a minute, Naz notices him staring. He’s just applied fake lashes, waiting for them to dry. His elbow lands on the armrest, chin in the palm of his hand.

“Have you cammed before?” Naz asks.

“No.”

“Trick of the trade, if you want more cash you should do private shows. They’re more fun than the talk shows you have to do if you’re public, and I’d say about half the people watching the stream are keyholders from the Clubhouse. Just don’t expect to get much attention with me and Connor on.”

Auston scoffs, “trust me, you’ll be doing me a favour.”

Naz traces his teeth with his tongue, sizing Auston up. His eyes scan Auston, darkening when he takes in the clothing detail that’s responsible for the busy look.

“Nice outfit,” Naz says. Auston gives him an unimpressed look. “No, I mean that seriously. Black’s good on you. Fits the room theme too.”

“Is it black?” Auston asks.

“I think so. Haven’t been in there in what feels like months.”

Auston wets his lips. Supposedly, he should emote or respond in some way. It’s difficult to do much of anything. His body’s become the straitjacket holding him in place, transporting him from the safety of his room to the cosmetic smell of the salon: of hair-dryers, nail polish, and cheap perfume.

Naz is picking at his nails. “Just do what you do. Mitch will take care of the rest.”

“But what do I do? I’m not _like_ you.”

“Hey.” Naz’s arm swings out, squeezing Auston’s arm until the skin darkens into what looks like clumps of cream-beiged coffee. “The first show’s not supposed to be anything. It’s a preview. Of what you look like and what you will do. Your personality. They couldn’t give a damn if you actually do anything right now but it’s a nice bonus if you do.”

It’s odd advice in that it manages to calm him down, just a little bit.

“So it doesn’t have to be sex?” he asks.

“You think people come to us for sex? They come to us because they want to be like us. No one wants to fuck a Playboy bunny, they want to own a Playboy bunny. They can get sex anywhere on the internet so why would they go for you? You think people try to hook up with Instagram models for the sake of it? They spend that much time wooing for a single hookup?”

“I guess.”

“If you want my advice, go in with a bang. Don’t be afraid. Just don’t show your face if it bothers you. Mitch will understand.”

“Okay.”

Naz snaps his blush container closed. “I have to go. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Zach had told him all about how Naz was a hothead with too much personality for his own good. Auston has yet to see it. Naz is someone who smells the bullshit behind the curtain and makes the conscious decision to not care. He aspires to be on that level, not clustered in with the try-hards.

Carrying that one piece of positivity with him, he walks into the lion’s den. His name is tacked onto a room that, like Mitch’s, has no windows. Before he enters he traces the letters that spell out _Auston_. Gold on white. It’s decorated as the answer to the prayer of a monastery, spiralling out on neat cursive letters.

It’s carpeted, with a round bed that looks like a saucer full of milk, rimmed black by the circle bed frame. A cushion of gold rose petals decorate the sheets. Two lamps flank the bed. Upon closer inspection, no cord is plugged into the wall socket. They’re a simple decoration.

Auston remembers the cam room dressed in flowers, growing the seeds of periwinkle laughter from a boy named Marner. Being in such close proximity of Mitch at the time made him want to kiss every single one of his freckles. And blue was such a strange but fitting choice for him.

If Mitch’s room was water raucous over rocks his was the epitome of wealth. The room colours owned a million dollar fortune; monochromatic except for the gold stonewash wallpaper behind the bed. Hooked over the headboard is an Andy Warhol look-alike: a gold glass of champagne with a lipstick kiss on the rim.

Mitch completes the room. He’s sitting cross-legged. All the heavy contour brings out his cheekbones and swells his under eyes until they look huge. What Auston likes best is the column of his neck. It looks like string cheese. Sweet, with a single wedge for his Adam’s apple.

“Auston. You look good.” Mitch’s voice warbles, like he’s not sure if he’s trying to be playful or frame it as a genuine compliment. Mitch is in babydoll lingerie, much like his.

“Mitch.” He doesn’t tack on the same sentiments.

The studio is all set up. Huge modifiers stretch out like umbrellas. Those elements make him feel as though he’s at home, clicking away through photo stacks, adjusting toggling with options on his computer’s toolbar. Yet, all it takes is a shot of the webcam on top of the monitor to push him back.

Mitch pats the empty space beside him. “Come here, let me show you what to do.”

Auston takes a seat beside Mitch. The mattress has a lot of give and he sinks about an inch into the foam. It puts him as level with the monitor in the distance.

He takes a deep breath, turning to his companion. “Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to show my face, is that okay?”

Mitch purses his lips. He waits for a second, as if giving Auston the choice to retract what he said. When the silence continues, he leans forward.

“What do you mean you don’t want to show your face? You have to. How else are they supposed to get to know you?”

“I don’t want them to know me.”

“You’re already on the promotional ads, what difference does it make?”

“Surprisingly, there’s a big difference between being a model and being a porn star.”

Mitch waves him off. “Whatever. Let me figure out how to do this.”

It’s chilly in the room. Auston wishes he had a shawl or sweater he could pull on top. Mitch is wearing less than him but runs twice as hot. He refuses to look at Auston.

Mitch begins tapping on the keyboard, bringing up an empty account name with _Matthews_ in two square brackets, invisible to the public. There’s no pictures or content.

Kyle’s printed the instructions on a piece of paper but numbers one to ten are self-explanatory. The website’s foolproof. Everything is set up, served on a silver platter. There’s only one last thing to do and that’s adjusting the trajectory of the camera. Mitch pulls a window open that shows the video image and he continues tilting the lens down until Auston’s head is out of view.

Mitch’s fingers dance on the keys, producing a clicking sound. “We have to wait until one to start.” It’s twelve fifty-eight. He’s actually going to make them wait the whole two minutes.

One of Mitch’s fingers scrapes Auston’s exposed knee with the nail. “Okay, listen. You don’t have to show your face, I get that,” Mitch says. “You don’t have to do anything you want to do. I put us down for a private. That way, we’ll have fewer people than if we did public. A hundred people versus maybe three if we’re lucky.”

“Do you have sex on camera?” Auston asks, hands folding over his mouth.

Mitch looks him in the eye. “I do sometimes and I’m not ashamed of it. It’s how we get paid. I’d do modelling if I could, but I can’t.”

“You’re really good at it though.” The clock strikes the minute fifty-nine.

Mitch’s mouth forms a thin line. “That doesn’t mean it’s going to be there for you. You know this.”

The computer volume fattens on the room’s quiet. Auston can’t stop his thighs from shaking.

A tiny chime is all it takes. It hits zero and then Mitch is hauling himself forward to fit the frame better. There are already five viewers online, budding conversations in the empty chat to the right.

Mitch almost decapitates himself with the wide smile he puts on his face. “Hi guys! Welcome back. As you see, I’ve got someone new with me today. Say hi everyone.”

The computer dings four times. Auston purposely doesn’t look at it, choosing to focus on the decor of the room. He’s running dollar signs behind his eyes like they’re painted horses on a carousel; an eye on the prize sort of deal.

Mitch leans up, his lips touching Auston’s lobe. “They’re saying hi.” One of Mitch’s hands reaches up to trace the line of Auston’s collarbone.

Mitch turns back to the camera. “He’s really shy. _Really_ shy. But he’s got these nice tattoos.” Mitch’s hand lowers, petting Auston’s shoulder down to his elbow. “They’re so pretty.” He pauses. “You like them, Ricky? I’m surprised you recognize him. And no, he’s not mute, right?”

Auston doesn’t know if Mitch is playing or if one of the customers actually recognizes him. His shoulders jerk.

“He’s got a nice face too, a little heart nose. I wish I could show you guys.” Mitch looks up at Auston, blinking once. Both of Mitch’s eyebrows jump.

“I’m not showing my face,” Auston says. He pauses for a second then boomerangs back. “Not yet.”

“See guys? He’s not mute. You’ve just got to be kind to him.”

Auston expects it to make waves but to give the chat credit, they move on quickly. Auston does what he expects anyone in his position, opening his legs to show off when Mitch pats his knee. It dusts off the cobwebs spun in his tips section.

Auston eyes that tip counter with every ounce of power he has. He knows Mitch can see him looking the few times he tries to get Auston’s opinion on what the chat’s saying. He just needs enough to bail him out.

After a while of showing off his body in positions of increasing impracticality, he can tell he’s prodded the coals a bit. He doesn’t have a ton of experience with a camming routine but he knows he shouldn’t be biting back at the purposeful taunts they throw at him. Yet if anything, his sarcasm bodes well enough to get some arguing going on.

He can see how much of a battle it is for Mitch to position himself shoulders down and also be able to type on the keyboard and move the mouse around. It compromises a lot of what he does, including the plucking of the straps on Auston’s his outfit like they’re harp strings because someone tipped him five tokens.

Mitch has his beautiful hands, tiny and frail. Over the course of ten minutes, he uses them to press down hard on Auston’s skin. What’s starts as massaging and/or light play quickly escalates. Mitch begins to use Auston as a crutch to lean on.

“I’m really happy he came to join us.” Now, Mitch’s hand slips down Auston’s stomach, settling in his groin area. When he tries to drop it down further, Auston snatches him by the wrist.

The aggression in the action shocks Mitch; Auston can see his face bunch up as he stares him down.

“Mitch,” he warns in his deep, rumbly voice.

Mitch cranes his neck up, resting his chin on the inside of Auston’s shoulder. “Come on, please? I want to touch you. This is the only place I’m allowed.” His breath is hot in Auston’s ear.

When Auston doesn’t move, Mitch’s hand fans out, scouring the open skin available to him. Auston’s own hands fasten themselves to his knees, plastered with sweat from his palms. The rate at the side of the computer trespasses on their private moment, a machine fed by the coins inserted by the visitors’ bank accounts.

“Mitch,” Auston mouths into Mitch’s hair. Once Mitch has all of the permission he needs, the straps around the back of Auston’s outfit are off, the neckline flopping down in front.

The noise pollution from the computer chimes becomes almost unbearable. It doesn’t feel like there are only five people watching them. He’d love to get an update on the viewer attendance but whenever he tries to assess the number, Mitch brings his head back with his free hand and presses their foreheads together.

Mitch pops open the snap buttons on the bottom and the spandex hugging Auston’s legs gets shirked off with a satisfying peel. The briefs on underneath are skin tight, disguised by the lace pattern. Even an idiot would be able to tell he’s aroused.

It’s hard to put a good spin on that. As much as he wishes he were anywhere else in the world, it might just be his own chance to get Mitch to give him a handjob.

“Are you going to stroke me off?” Auston phrases, picking his words from the world’s most selective branch of conversation. He wants to shut the monitor off and trap him and Mitch together in the moment.

“Is that what you want baby? What do you think guys? Should I stroke him off, make him come?”

A few rough presses on Auston’s clothed cock get the blood flowing. A few tokens of gratitude are deposited into his bank account. He’s easily into double, maybe triple digits now.

Mitch pulls Auston’s legs up from where they’re dangling off the side of the bed and pushes them open until Auston blooms. The hand not fisted in his crotch slaps his inner thigh.

Auston instinctively tries to close his legs only to find Mitch has positioned himself in between them to make it impossible. Parasitically, it’s Mitch crooning with enjoyment after a loud moan or cry, waving the red flag in front of the bulls. Finally, it makes more sense to just push Auston down onto the bed and climb on top of him.

Quick to obscure his identity, Auston lays his right arm over his eyes. The facial hair on his chin peeks out.

“Look at you,” Mitch purrs. “He can’t help it. Oh, baby you’re being so good for me. So good.”

Auston’s erection tents his briefs, a wet patch budding at the head. His nails ride over the sheets, anointed with sweat. Mitch is tactile and he becomes familiar with what makes Auston’s hips thrust up. He ends up riding Auston’s waist like a saddle, always facing the camera.

Auston’s head falls back on the sheets. Sexual frustration is the demon twanging his strings at night. Any tangible relief is a hot shower to duck under. He just wishes his release wasn’t a note on Mitch’s agenda, someone who’s taking his sweet time getting Auson to orgasm.

“I know guys, we tired him out good. We still have a lot of breaking in to do.” Mitch jams his palm in, bracketing Auston in so he can’t spring out of frame in shock.

The computer sings a cute little note, combing in through one ear and out the other with its sound, like nails tapping on an icicle. A couple more notes chime before Auston realizes it’s the main chat, and Mitch is still talking back to them.

Auston’s knees knock together. He’s dangling close to the edge and Mitch knows it.

Mitch tries bringing Auston out of his briefs but gets a well-placed jerk that stops him right in his tracks. Mitch huffs, but says nothing to Auston, addressing the viewers instead. “If you’re interested, we shot a calendar last month. We get a bit frisky, if that’s what you’re into.”

Since he’s not allowed in, Mitch has to finish his efforts by mashing his hand against Auston’s dick. He’s not cautious in any sense of the word but it still feels good. Mitch is the only person in the room that can see the heat-packing behind Auston’s eyes.

“Aus, you’re so _pretty_ ,” Mitch says. It’s under his breath so that no one else can hear. “Are you going to come for me? I know you can.”

The orgasm is no spectacle, but Auston has to reach out and grab Mitch’s hand to power through it. He craves that human contact. Everything about the exchange has been so practical it’s made his stomach turn upside down.

Sooner than later, Auston’s swimming in his little high, his hips twitching. He wants to stay swaddled in those kind seconds for a minute longer.

Mitch clears his throat, stealing his hand back from Auston. On all fours, he crawls back to centre stage.

“Sorry for the short stream but it looks like I’ll have to clean him up, thank you all for your help. Maybe next time I’ll try your suggestion, Rick.” He laughs. “I’ll be back in ten minutes guys. See you soon,” he says, in perfect stage performance.

Mitch clicks the window shut, relaxing his shoulders as the website’s little quips quiet down. “I keep wipes in the drawer,” he says, without looking at Auston.

Auston tries to laugh it off, finding the empty air between them problematic when not filled with words. That seal that held them together is broken, putty in their hands.

“That was something,” he says.

“I went easy on you,” Mitch responds. There’s no humour in his voice. It’s work conversation. “Just for future advice, don’t get too wrapped up in your own pleasure. It’s about them, not us.”

“That’s not what I was talking about. I meant to say you know what you’re doing with your hands. It was nice.” He tries to morph it as a compliment without undermining Mitch’s ego.

“Thank you. I’ve got lots of practice.” His finger is trying to fix lipstick budding at the corner of his mouth with neat strokes. “Is any of my makeup smudging?”

“No. You’re good.”

“Thanks. Okay. I need to get ready for round two. I’ll see you later.”

Then, he just turns away. He doesn’t even try to recognize the hurt spreading on Auston’s face. That quick dismissal threatens everything.

The euphoria has him make bad decisions: he sneaks a kiss when he’s walking by Mitch, who jolts and looks at Auston like he’s committed arson. Once the shock passes, Mitch covers it up with a smile.

“We don’t do that here. No relationships and all.”

In the place of embarrassment, Auston feels sick with anger. It makes him feel ready to breathe fire. “I know. Just thought you needed something real after your little performance.”

Mitch has the guts to look offended at that. “Don’t be mean, my room is super nice. I know a lot of them from the Clubhouse.”

“I’m sure you’re very well acquainted.”

Mitch stops dangling his legs, twisting them around so that his body is facing Auston. “I don’t know what your problem is but you need to take this seriously if you ever want to succeed here.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to succeed? I can’t leave here, not if I want a good job.”

“So why are you dragging your feet? Why would you willingly make yourself miserable?”

“I think I’m allowed to be sad Mitch. Not everything has to be peachy keen all the time.”

“Allowed to be sad doesn’t entitle you to ruin everyone else’s day. Maybe that’s why no one wants to be around you.”

Auston first response is to shoot something back that will make Mitch _hurt_. Something that plays on his vulnerable and keeps him awake at night. He’s warming up the words in his mouth when common sense slaps his cheek and he’s forced to rethink his approach. Mitch doesn’t know the first thing about his situation but he’s not about to alienate the closest thing he has to a friend.

Auston, red-faced and crestfallen, had to back out of the room, still half-naked. No one is in the hall, thank God, and he’s able to find a washroom to change in with relative ease. The plastic bag with his jeans and shirt ends up on the floor tile, beside his dignity. He probably spends five minutes slouched over the seat, mulling over what just happened.

Hair damp with tap water, he exits the room and makes a beeline for his room. The layers of offices whiz by in his vision, lending themselves to an endless hallway that he hallucinates to be longer than it in all probability is. He stops for no one, not the staff or the noises from behind closed doors.

The doors that divide the end of the new, modern office from the older architecture of the rooms in the mansion are closed, the doorstop removed. Kyle stands in the middle, staring down Auston as he gets closer.

“Hey Auston,” Kyle says. His fingers are messing with the colourful dividers in his binder for no apparent reason. Always so calm and collected, Auston would rather pluck chickens than talk to him right now.

Kyle picks up on his silence, continuing the conversation without him. “Good show. They liked you. Maybe show your face next time,” he says.

Auston cocks his head to the side. “Will there be a next time, Kyle?” It’s no genuine question, instead, it’s a challenge.

“There will if you want to turn a profit. It’s much better for you than modelling. We can’t always get you a shoot. You need to space out how often you’re on camera. Camming is great for a portfolio.”

“The fuck?” he says because it would have been good information to know before he signed his contract. Not that it’s the only convenient detail Kyle left out.

“Language,” Kyle corrects him. “I recommend a dip in the pool if you need to unwind. I’ll see you at round-up tomorrow.”

He steps aside to let Auston go. Without gracing Kyle with even a single look, Auston barges out.

 

The pool is inside a cavernous interior, sculpted out of rocks. Above the turquoise pool is a bridge connecting the entrance to a stairwell pushed up against a stone wall. The few touches of modernity are the upholstered lounge chairs rimming the pool.

Humidity beams in on rays of sunlight, the double-decker windows beckoning in heat to warm the soles of his feet. It’s one of the only rooms in the mansion, precluding the restaurant and Kyle’s office, that mixes modern architecture with stone walls and busts of philosophers. A plentiful collection of white towels are folded on display of the door, deliberately placed next to a hamper where two droopy towels hook over the side: soppy.

The one downside is the room doused in chlorine. It stinks the whole thing up, clogging the superfluous dance of blue and beige tone walls.

He descends down the first stairwell to the story below where the basin of water rises up from the ground. Someone’s already swimming around, if the rising bubbles are any indication. Another is the pile of clothes discarded a few feet away from the underground water filter. The items, even from a glance, are skimpy. It’s no wonder who beat him to some private time in the artificially heated waters.

The blond head bursts through the shallow, spraying driblets of water in every direction. Auston startles, less because of the action and more the spray sulking down his shirt, glueing it to his stomach. He scowls at the boy still submerged in his bath, who answers with a laugh tied in colourful ribbons.

“Going swimming?” Willy asks. He splashes water with his right hand, forming a stream of pompous white bubbles that dally in Auston’s general direction. “I was waiting for someone to join me.”

“I didn’t know you were here, don’t flatter yourself.” His whole chest rattles as he speaks. Nothing stops his barbed tongue from voicing his displeasure; the skin of his ego is rubbed raw.

“Ouch. Someone’s mad. That bad?”

Auston wishes he could flop down on his front so that his belly can smack against the whip of the water hard enough to force all that tension out. A second look at the tiny waves that swell under Willy’s kicks changes his mind. Auston settles for dangling his feet in the water.

“Kyle’s a fucking nuisance.”

“What makes you say that? It’s pretty typical of the modelling business.”

“To cam like that? I doubt it.”

“Look, I come right out of the belly of the beast. It’s true what they say: beauty is pain, yadda yadda. Sometimes you just need to get shitfaced and cry about it.”

“And you cam like that for ten hours a week?”

“More or less.”

“I would ask how but you’re so relaxed about it.”

“I assure you, Kyle’s no different from the rest. At least here your quality of life is great.”

“I guess it’s not for me,” Auston says to the noise of Willy humming. “Maybe I’ll just run away.”

“God--No. Don’t--Don’t do that.” Willy window washes his hands. “Bad idea.”

At first, Auston’s tossing around laughs, rough like gravel. It isn’t until he locks eyes with Willy that he sees the panic writ on his face. Pretty is as pretty does but Willy has and always will be an open book.

Auston is compelled to ask, “what?”

“Been there, done that. You don’t want to.”

 _That_ right there is juicy gossip. Auston slides over, legs mingling in the vat of turquoise water.

“You _ran away_?” He lowers his volume, turning his voice hoarse.

Willy looks so strange without a giggle on his lips. “Hypothetically. As far as the bunnies know I was on a modelling contract so zip it, okay?”

Something about his eyes looks so fierce. Like a cornered dog, rabid, foaming at the mouth. It’s too early to tell if talking about leaving is heresy to the bunny colony. All of Willy’s facial expressions point to yes.

“Okay. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

Willy sighs. “A lot of things. Not just one thing. I let things build up for too long and then I did something stupid.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I left. Thought I could make it out of my own. Kyle found me because of my spending and we talked. I came back and that’s it. It’s something I would never go through again, let’s leave it at that.”

Auston’s shoulders spring up. “Was it because of the exclusive contract thing? Is that why Kyle came after you?”

Willy swims over, digs his elbow in the meat of Auston’s thigh and gets water all over him in the process. “Just learn from me: don’t go about it this way. Just meet with Kyle and talk to him if you’re having problems. Better than to keep looking over your shoulder because of some dumb modelling contract.”

“But let me get this straight, you like it here. You’re not forced to be here?”

“Oh yeah, baby.” Willy’s arms open up; giant swan wings. “This is the top of the modelling totem pole. I make more now than ever before. You have to understand, this is a career. It’s not chilling on a beach for hours like most people think. You put the work in and get rewarded.”

“And for you, that’s sex.”

Willy’s smile tacks on a few teeth, growing in size. “Sex in a nice room with nice people and great fucking orgasms. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not for everybody. You’ve got bunnies that stay chaste their whole careers. If that’s your thing then go ahead, just don’t expect to be popular.”

“I’m guessing you have no solid advice for me either.”

“Oh I do. Show your face.”

“Nah.” Auston shakes his head. “Not going to do that. I’ll be the laughing stock of the west coast.”

“Your face isn’t that bad.”

Auston’s eyes flap shut, he raises a hand to stop Willy from speaking further. “No--shut up. If I show my face now then I have no job ten years later.”

“There’s always plastic surgery.” Auston fixes Willy with a dead-on stare. He gives the man credit, Willy holds a serious face for a couple seconds before a laugh flings its way out of his chest.

Auston tries reverting back to the serious tone of conversation but wrangling Willy in takes more than he’s willing to give. It comes to a point where it’s therapeutic just watching Willy dive down to the bottom as if his belly is weighed down by stones. He thinks, if someone as high-strung as Willy can find peace then maybe the whole thing’s not blown.

He finally gets paid that night, all the proceeds he was waiting on plus a little bonus from Kyle. For good behaviour.

 

It’s a very atypical kind of day. Originally, it was supposed to be a day trip that they had to cancel because of heavy rain and flooding down in the bay. It was supposed to be the first one Auston went on too, a publicity stunt at a theatre downtown, a venue that serves independent and multicultural films.

He’s stir crazy with his confinement in the mansion. Beyond various mall outings and house calls for businessmen who want something to write on their blogs, there’s not much of a reason to leave, at least none that Kyle can sign off on. By then, he’s served at the Playboy club twice and any excuse about him just filling in an empty spot fly right out the window. He’s a regular, and the cardholders pick up on it relatively quickly.

His spare time is filled with manicures and face masks. While Zach tries to appease him by saying he’s in an integration phase with the company it doesn’t change the fact Auston’s banking less sleep than usual.

He can’t even look up porn or anything close to it because of his connection to the in-house router. He doesn’t doubt that Kyle reviews their search history. He also doesn’t doubt the irony that they’ll slam him for being sexually active while representing a brand that capitalizes on the adult entertainment industry.

On Thursday morning, he has enough. He swipes his phone off of the mantlepiece and types up “downtown, bar, popular” in the Google search engine, watching a list of recommended and advertised locations pop up under his fingers. Some are try-heads in terms of their decoration and menu listings, while others scrape together the bare definition of a bar.

He’s retreading old ground because it’s not like he hasn’t tried chasing the lucid dreams of the underground on Fridays after work. Getting just tipsy enough to smooth him into sleep was a given; staring at computer screens for hours at his old job turned him into quite an insomniac. But this time isn’t about having fun throwing back shots with complete strangers.

This time, it’s about Mitch. It’s been a little awkward since they were both on camera. There was no formal apology, just business as usual and that only made it worse. Auston wanted to talk, wanted to know if anything had changed or if it had meant anything. He wants to find a place that’s going to appeal to Mitch as much as it will him so that they can finally talk using liquid courage, and something tells him that a loud scene is the opposite of that.

Maps show him to a family-owned place twenty minutes from there. It’s not high-traffic but not invisible, perfect for the rainy day blues after work. Outside the opening doors are cardinal street lamps dressed down in bicycle chains. Auston’s so used to the glitter and greed at the mansion that the pictures of chipped wallpaper become a welcome sight.

He waits for the perfect opportunity to spring it on Mitch, away from prying eyes and opportunists that wait to rattle on every stunt Auston pulls. He debates whether to tell Mitch over dinner but figures the many ears in close vicinity would end their excursion before it even began. That leaves only aqua aerobics in the morning.

It still feels weird swimming with little to no body hair on him but when he’s with Mitch it’s like being a dog with a bone. He’s able to close his eyes and relax; go boneless against the other man as they lazily paddle down into the deep end.

“Hey, Mitch,” Auston says, nudging at his shoulder. “Hey, listen.”

“Mm.” Mitch is blowing bubbles in the water, hardly giving Auston the time of day.

“Do you want to go out tonight?”

Mitch’s lips pop. “Where?”

“I was thinking this nice bar downtown—“

“No thanks,” Mitch says, without waiting for an explanation.

Auston pats Mitch’s cheek with the palm of his hand. “ _Listen_ ,” he stresses, “I think I’d be nice to have some time to ourselves.”

“We’re not allowed to drink.”

“In front of customers,” Auston corrects him. “What’s the harm in grabbing some food together? I’m sure you could use a break from routine.”

“I like the routine.” Mitch stops floating on his back, shoving Auston face-first into the water. When he surfaces, Mitch is treading water.

Without thinking, Auston can tell he’s trying to divert. He sticks to his guns. “Think of it as a date night then.”

He expects Mitch will counter by saying dating is off limits. Mitch surprises him by staying quiet, giving Auston the choice of continuing in hopes of getting Mitch on board.

“It’s a quiet place so we won’t be recognized and they serve drinks other than alcohol. It’ll be fun. You need it, you’re always cooped up here.”

Mitch takes his time. He’s looking down at the swirls in the water.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Mitch says. It’s a step in the right direction.

“I’m going to head out at six to make curfew. Find me before then if you change your mind.” Auston flips onto his stomach and swims in the opposite direction, toward the lounge chairs where his checkered towel is.

Mitch stays where he is, watching as Auston dries off and shoves his flip-flops on. Auston’s convinced those blue eyes are still on him as he heads off to the showers to rinse the salt off of his body. He tries not to entrench his thoughts in speculation. It only leads to disappointment.

There’s a lot of meandering with time blown at the restaurant or sneaking joints off of Kappy in the greenhouse over some mixtape he’s put together. The rest of the day he spends alternating between the gym equipment and showers.

Mitch catches up to him on the treadmill, taking the machine beside him. Although Auston has his earbuds in, Mitch opens his mouth and makes a motion to get his attention.

Auston pulls his left bud out and hooks it over his ear. “Yes?”

“Are you still going out at six?” Mitch asks as he tinkers with the machine’s settings. Auston can’t see what dials he picks. Mitch starts on a light jog.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Tell me about the place,” Mitch says. “I’m curious.”

“It’s small, just off of Ridgeway. It’s nowhere high traffic if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not a drinker, will I still have fun?” Mitch asks, refusing to make eye contact. The twinge of his words reveals it for the lie it is.

Auston’s not trying to be right, he’s trying to get Mitch on his side. Pointing out that he knows Mitch enjoys a beer isn’t going to win him any favours. He moves on.

“You don’t just have to drink to have fun.”

“Well, the guys said it would do me well to unwind a bit.”

Auston’s face drops. “You talked to the bunnies?” He barely trusts Mitch as is but the rest of the bunnies are all backstabbers. He wouldn’t trust them to save him a seat much less keep their mouths shut.

“No, my followers. You know, camming? Said I might go out for a drink.”

“Doesn’t Kyle watch your streams?”

Mitch shakes his head. “He watches _your_ streams. He has to whip you into shape.”

“I think I do a good job,” Auston says. His leg muscles are getting sore very quickly. He should’ve taken a break by now.

Old habits die hard; Kyle gets him on the monitor twice more after being with Mitch. Those times, he’s alone. No one stops him from doing what he pleases, walking over the horny men and women that tip him for absolutely no reason. No heated confrontation with Kyle has convinced him that he’ll find success otherwise. Making money from it is just the icing on top of the cake.

“Yeah, if people watch us to be blue balled. Kyle’s not stupid.”

Auston’s having trouble keeping up the conversation mid-jog and ends his cycle in order to enter cool down. “Let’s set the record straight,” he gets out in between breaths, “when I came here, Kyle said zip about me doing that. Twice, he’s gone behind my back and done things without asking me. I know I have to do it to be paid but that doesn’t mean I have to do it well.”

“I guess. I can’t say I agree but, you do you.” Mitch grabs both handrails as he warms up to a faster speed. It’s the first time Auston’s heard something that wasn’t blind faith coming back at him for his disrespect.

They exist in each other’s company for the first time in weeks. No planned shoots and no sexual innuendos running in the background. Auston can safely say it’s their best interaction since after the cursed bunny shoot.

He pretends he can’t see Mitch stealing glances at him and keeps walking until his knees are shaking. As much as he likes being with Mitch, he should’ve gotten off the treadmill ages ago. He could keep running to buy himself more time by Mitch’s side, but his body disagrees.

He leaves to find the vinegar spray to disinfect the machine with, giving Mitch a fright as he scrambles to turn his respective machine off. No words can explain the relief he shows when he realizes Auston is coming back.

“Auston,” Mitch says, “if you need company tonight, I’ll go.”

Auston looks up from where he’s wiping down the rail. “Really?”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be good to catch up. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“I asked you bud. Of course you’re welcome.”

He expects Mitch will be happy but when he looks over, he’s damn near close to tears. Mitch looks like he’s just barely holding it together, the exact opposite of the liberating feeling that’s coursing through Auston’s chest.

Mitch looks about the same when Auston fetches him for a light dinner later. Per his request, Mitch isn’t in lingerie or booty shorts. He looks perfectly normal, it’s just his face that throws him off. When they order their food, Mitch only gets carrots and peas as a side and nothing more. He rejects Auston trying to feed him fries.

When their driver arrives, Auston rides shotgun to spare Mitch the anxiety of sitting next to a complete stranger. He can’t insulate Mitch from everything, but he feels that if he can show Mitch his world then maybe, just maybe, things will change. It has to be a slow integration, nothing abrupt that will send him running back home.

Granted, Mitch looks in better spirits when they actually reach the bar. He flies to the bar counter before Auston’s even got a foot in the door, scanning his surroundings with his bottom lip hanging.

Ultimately, Auston’s not there to chaperone Mitch, he just wants him as a companion. That night’s about his pleasure, so he goes overboard at first. Mitch is on his second trip to the bathroom to wash his hands and he’s already got his hands on his second drink. The bar lacks grinding strangers and unintelligible trap music but makes up for it in weird creeps looking for a smoke outside and a bartender that’s equal parts serial killer and certified nutritionist.

A group of ladies, part of some bachelorette party Auston guesses, buy Auston a drink. He hands it off to Mitch, who uses both hands to drain it. The first drink opens the floodgates. Mitch gives the menu a good look and tries experimenting, going for the drinks with lots of colour. Auston’s not well acquainted with the bar but tries to point out the fruity drinks for Mitch to look into. He enjoys sharing, when Mitch allows him.

The clock ticks, going from seven, to nine, to ten and Mitch looks a little worse for wear once he’s let go of his inhibitions. His cheeks are ruddy, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast Auston can’t keep up. It’s the ramblings of a mad man compressed into something cute that he can’t look away from. The only thing the alcohol’s doing to Auston is boldening the glow that surrounds Mitch’s person.

It’s the time to be making stupid mistakes, speaking without thinking and ordering more than their body’s capacity. Mitch sees it different, with lower defences he pounces on the opportunity to corner Auston at the bar stools and smash their faces together. It’s the first time Mitch has kissed him--for real--since before Auston was a bunny.

Mitch’s movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. He needs Auston to do the work of aligning their mouths to really make use of their positioning. In those few seconds, the desperation is clear for all to see. Mitch’s hands fly to Auston’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

Mitch is finally taking what he wants and Auston couldn’t be happier to be on the receiving line. Still, eyes are boring holes into his back. They’re making a scene.

“Mitch, hey,” he pants out as they break apart. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Nah, I like this,” Mitch sing-songs. His smile is pressing on Auston’s lips.

“Mitchy, you don’t want video of you like this.” Auston slides his hands up Mitch’s dress shirt and pushes him back, giving them an inch or two to breathe with.

Confusion splays out on Mitch’s face in full. He’s looking at Auston with wide eyes.

“But don’t you want me?”

Auston pulls his hands back, placing one on each of Mitch’s cheeks. It makes the other man’s face scrunch up, eyes going thin. “Mitch, of course I want you. I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“But I want you.” Mitch sways into him. He keeps dragging out his A’s, always forcing more emphasis on his words than he probably should.

“I want you too,” he says, to which Mitch’s face visibly brightens. “Let’s go out and get some snacks. You look like you need some air.”

Mitch is laughing and stepping on the backs of Auston’s shoes. He lets Auston pay for their drinks and guide him out the door with an arm around his waist. Auston’s able to drop his hand down to Mitch’s ass. All he gets in the form of feedback is a giggle.

He gets a driver to take them to a gas station nearby with a slushie machine. Mitch convinces Auston to buy him the blue raspberry flavour on top of a bag Crispies and Doritos to munch on. Even if the grand total is under ten dollars, Auston can’t help himself and looks over Mitch from the counter, someone who probably makes five times his pay because of seniority.

The drive back is quiet. Auston’s shoulder feels damp. It’s an uncomfortable position, one that wrenches his whole arm back and holds it in place. He’s going to wake up stiff as a log the next morning. But it’s for Mitch’s comfort, and he’s not going to deprive him of it now. Not when he’s at his lowest state.

He doesn’t know why Mitch’s face is distorted--if it’s the guilt or sadness at leaving it all behind--but he can guess until the cows come home. He wants things to go back to how they were when he was just a junior photographer doing favours for a model way out of his league, but that’s all hopeful wishing. He lets Mitch lean on him as they reenter the mansion, this time through the back doors so no one sees them come in.

They’re not walking on old wood panelling but they still tiptoe down the halls. Mitch is hugging his arms close to his body, head down and refusing to respond to any of Auston’s questions. He stays hush until they reach the bunny wing on the first floor. There, Auston can see him reset. Mitch takes on the form of someone with twice his confidence that doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.

Before he can split, Auston brings both of Mitch’s hands up and carefully kisses the back of his hand.

“I love you,” he says. Mitch stops looking at him.

“I can’t,” Mitch responds. “I really can’t, I’m sorry.”

“I know, but really think about it, okay?” Auston can’t get another word in before Mitch turns on his heel and speed walks down the hall. His hands are swinging at his sides.

Auston’s night is not over. He has to rinse out his mouth and stick his fingers back his throat to get the queasy feeling out of his stomach. Otherwise, his routine is the same. He figures he’ll shower in the morning before roundup to cover up his crimes and go about his business. Though now that he knows Mitch might not care as much as he said he did, that may be harder said than done.

 

His alarm doesn’t go off, but that might be because he forgot to set it in the first place. His head aches and his eyelid won’t open for longer than two seconds. He went to bed in his day clothes too, meaning they’re not only wrinkled but stuck to his body.

He only has ten minutes to change, brush his teeth, and comb back his hair. The smell of booze is still strong in the air but he’s not sure if it’s his paranoia generating it or the proof on his skin. He lathers hand soap all over his arms up to his elbows to cover the worst of the scent. It’s too late to try putting product in his hair.

He jogs down to the lounge with a minute to spare, already finding the room is populated with equally tired bunnies. There’s not enough furniture to sit on but he doubts the ability of his navigational system to land him anywhere that isn’t the floor.

He’s still getting used to the weekend's morning roundup taking place before breakfast, and it looks like he’s not the only one. A few bedheads sit divorced from any conversation, raking their hands through their greasy hair on repeat.

Mitch is shoved into the corner. Whenever Auston tries to get close he shuts off and scurries away, out of sight like a mouse--except this time, it’s not cute. Auston needs to know his stance on what happened, and more importantly, if he’s going to be talking to anyone about it.

Unfortunately, everything about that morning is moving too quickly. Kyle’s earlier than usual, catching everyone off guard. Auston’s walking backward to join the lineup when he notices Kyle is looking down at him. This time, it’s not disappointment. That ship has set sail.

Instead of reading announcements and assigning daily tasks for his top crew, Kyle walks up to him. They’re almost of equal height, but it feels like Kyle’s towering.

“You reek of alcohol,” Kyle says. Half of the row stiffens up.

“So?” Auston says back.

“Where were you last night?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does matter because as I see it you went out past curfew to drink without my permission. Either that or you broke into the supply here.”

Auston’s eyes screw up. “I didn’t break into anything.”

“So you were out?”

“Why does it matter, Kyle?”

A bolt of light flashes in his eyes. “You do not address me like that. You certainly do not take one of my bunnies out on the town without telling me first. Clearly, I have been too lenient with you. I let you get away with not doing things up to standard but that ends now.”

Auston rolls his eyes. His respect for the other man has waned.

“I want you in my office now,” Kyle says. “Anyone who thinks I’m being too harsh is free to join him.”

No one budges. Mitch’s eyes flit down, his the skin of his jaw pulled tight. He stands there and let Auston be tugged away like a dog on a leash. There isn’t a word that could be said to bandage the sore it creates.

 

Kyle makes his way over to the other side of the desk. A hand presses the collar of his button-up flat as he seats himself. He closes his computer, leaving him distraction-free. It’s jarring being the centre of his attention. Auston’s having trouble keeping still.

“So, what are we going to do about this, Auston?”

“I think your rules are too strict,” he says.

“None of the other bunnies have problems with my rules. Only you.”

“They’re,” Auston raises a hand, tries to articulate it with the flex of his fingers, “them. They’re not right.”

“Look, I understand. Everyone has problems adjusting to a new work environment. It’s a big step and I’m proud of your progress. I simply can’t have you walking over my attempts to be kind.”

“What you’re asking is a lot.”

“Is it a lot to just wear heels and listen to my instructions?”

“To me it is.”

“How do you know you will not enjoy it if you don’t try it?”

“I don’t need to slap heels on for eight hours to know it’s uncomfortable and degrading.”

“Well, that’s the sum of our work here.”

Auston scoots closer on his chair. “I just thought it would be more...casual. Like how you pitched it. I want to still be working and have my own freedom plus everything else.”

“Well I’m sorry to say you can’t have your cake and eat it too. You’re too valuable to be playing with cameras all afternoon.”

“Playing with cameras?” Auston asks out of sheer disbelief. Kyle continues.

“If you would just wait you would see I have things lined up for you. But before that I need to know that you can work under these conditions. How am I supposed to trust you now?”

“You could start by not treating me like a child, then I might not have to find other means to entertain myself with.”

Kyle pulls his glasses off, wiping them down with a cloth. “I just don’t understand why you would drag Mitch into this. He’s a gentle soul. Why did you risk his entire career just to provoke me?”

“He wanted to come.”

Kyle scoffs. “I find that highly unlikely.”

“Why is it such a surprise to you that people are unhappy here?”

“Mitch is not unhappy. The only thing that has made him upset lately has been your disobedience.”

“If I’m such a bad influence then why not dismiss me?”

“Because I think you belong here and I think you can do great things.”

“Like what, cam for your pleasure?” Auston’s nose twitches. “Was that what you thought about when you saw me, how good I’d pose for you?”

“That’s not what I--”

“Clearly, that’s what you wanted. You’re telling me all of a sudden I can’t model? That camming is the only option? Nah, fuck this. We tried it out but I don’t think this’ll work.”

He stands up. Kyle follows in sync.

“Wait. Wait, Auston.”

Auston holds a hand up. “Thanks for everything. Tell me what I owe you.”

Kyle’s on damage control, peddling back to say something that will go easy on Auston’s ears. The desk separating them gives Auston the five seconds he needs to get out of that room, elbow his way through the audience at the foot of the door, and keep walking without looking back. He’s on a time budget and a strict one at that.

He’s never been more grateful for not trading in his phone and phone plan when Kyle made the suggestion. The obtuse idea that with the click of a button he’d be locked out is terrifying. He might’ve not even had Patty as a contract, the one out in a room with no doors, only mirrors.

He locks the door to his room as he enters and leans against it to add to the barricade. His phone is in the back pocket where he left it. He didn’t trust himself to take it out and not drop it or get it swiped when he wasn’t paying attention. His contacts are a wasteland of month-old conversations he never replied to, people whose lives continued without him.

A whole rosary of prayer ebbs out from between his lips. His tongue is stuck to the floor of his mouth. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s sent to voicemail again. Cry, maybe.

“This is Patrick.” The greeting is so robotic, stripped of all personality until it’s the calling card of industry. Auston’s brain fashions it into something so much kinder.

“Hey, Patty?”

Pat’s sudden puff of air eclipses his next words. “Auston? Hey--”

“Can you come pick me up? You were right.”

“Right about what? What happened?”

Auston leaves the door, holding his phone to his ear using his shoulder. He throws open the closet door, dragging out his suitcase by the side handle.

“Can you just come here, please? I’ll reimburse you for any work you miss.” He starts throwing in anything he can get his hands on from the drawers. Obviously, he can’t take it all. Oh, but he wishes he could, so he wouldn’t have to come back to collect his belongings.

“God--Auston don’t say stuff like that, of course I’ll come. Give me twenty.”

“Thanks.” The one line of connection dies in his hands, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

He stashes away the photographs of his mother and his older sister’s graduation in the front pocket of the red suitcase. The expensive suits and ties bought in his time at the mansion are left behind. Even repurposed, the memory would only serve to haunt him.

He throws on a windbreaker to go outside with and tugs his suitcase along with him as he boxes up his remaining camera equipment and balances it on top of the suitcase, letting it lean against the pull handle so it’s not freestanding.

No one is in the hall when he exits but just to be safe he takes the long route to the front door so he’s tasked with the fewest amount of interruptions. Once vibrant and full of life, the mansion walls are closing in on him. Cold air is forced up the floor.

All’s clear until he gets to the giant doors at the front. Kyle’s laid a trap in the form of Mitch, who stands in front drawing circles in the ground with his big toe. Auston’s ready to bulldoze him over to get out.

“Mitch, move,” Auston says.

“Auston! Wait.” Kyle reappears from the side hall, legs moving in such perfect rhythm that he’s practically _slithering_ across the tiles. “Let’s talk about this. You need someplace to work for the next two years, don’t you?”

There’s a folded piece of paper in his right hand. Without looking, Auston knows what it is.

Judging by the expression on Kyle’s face, he knows how devastating of a blow it will be for Auston’s career. Auston never remembers signing any of it--he’s half tempted to pull it out of Kyle’s hands to check the validity of the signature. However, he’s not a savage; he’s not Kyle. He’s not going to take it back to the negotiation table, where he will surely lose.

“Are you at least going to let me look at it?” Auston unfolds the palm of his hand, daring Kyle to fill it with paper.

“You did look at it, twice in fact. You must feel strongly about your line of work if you’re willing to drop everything to make some statement.”

“You think I can’t work on the side because of your stupid contract? There’s plenty of minimum wage jobs here, don’t kid yourself.”

“Is that really how you want to do this? Because it’s sad you’d put your personal pride over your finances.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it Kyle?”

Kyle looks hurt by the criticism, if the eye twitch is any indication. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I don’t have anything else to say to you, really.”

He leans his body to the side to look at Mitch. “I’m sorry that you weren’t as invested in me as I was you. If I had known, maybe I wouldn’t have come here,” Auston says.

Mitch looks down at his feet. “I didn’t ask you to like me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I can’t stay here. I hope you understand. _Both_ of you.” He turns back to Kyle, who’s still got the slanted eyebrows going on but is otherwise in complete control. Auston doesn’t want to find out what it takes to crack his composure in two.

“I give you two months until you come back,” Kyle says. “Do you really want to leave here on a bad note?”

“I’m not the one being an ass.”

He wants so badly to chew Kyle out but his ride isn’t here yet. He doesn’t want to be at the mercy of the pecking order all because he can’t practice restraint. All he has are the little backhanded compliments and quips that he can throw under the bus.

Then, blessedly, he sees Patty’s truck drive around the roundabout and that’s all the motive he needs to trample Mitch in order to get out. Mitch has other plans. He is too much like an octopus and once his hands are on Auston the suckers dig in.

“Wait, please,” Mitch says. He buries his face into Auston’s chest, holding on for dear life.

The temptation to unload all of his burdens prove too strong. Auston gets in Mitch’s face. “You told Kyle. You told him everything, didn’t you?”

“I had to. I didn’t mention you at all, I promise.”

“But you still told him?”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you or my job here. Auston, where would I go?” His eyes become a snowglobe of lights, wobbling as the panic sets in.

“If it’s such a problem then come with me. I’ll look after you.”

He hears the sound of paper crunching behind him but refuses to humour it. The colours drain out of Mitch’s face.

“You know I can’t. I won’t go back to serving coffees at six in the morning,” Mitch says.

“Then what do you expect me to do?”

Mitch walks backwards, bringing Auston with him until they’re out of hearing range. “Stay here. Let’s make this work. Let’s push our rooms together. We can be the face of the company, you and me, together.”

It all sounds too good to be true. “How can I trust you now?” Auston asks.

“I would. I really like you. That’s why I wanted you here so much, so we could make it work.”

It’s easy to get lost in that dandelion field of promises. Mitch has the charm to reel him in time and time again. He welds their fingers together like nothing will ever come between them again, like it’s some postmodern Cinderella story.

Auston forces bile back down his throat. They kissed twice. Nothing is written in stone.

He ends contact with Mitch, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” He throws Mitch’s words right back at him.

Mitch looks close to crying. Moisture is collecting on his undereye like it always does when Mitch isn’t smiling. Having anything that’s not a smile on his face dries out the sunshine in his pores, leaving behind a bad imitation.

Mitch’s handprints remain on his skin long after he’s exited the premises and slipped into Pat’s truck. Patty’s an angel as always, helping load Auston’s important equipment into the back whilst using his body to shield Auston from the spectators they have at the entrance.

Auston throws open the door and jumps in, already calmed by the trembling of the car engine as it idles. Patty is much less overwrought and takes his time.

Patty shifts the gear into drive, places his boot on the gas pedal, and finally, they’re moving. “I tried calling when we were dropped,” he says. “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

Auston’s elbow is digging on the passenger seat window. His hand creates small blinders to shield his face with, specifically so that the mansion guests can’t see his stormy expression.

“Hey.” Auston looks up. “You okay?” Patty asks.

“Can we just go? Please?”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I’d love to, but if I can be honest, I don’t think it’s over yet.” If there isn’t a letter addressed to him in the mail in a week’s time, he’ll shoot himself in the foot. Giving Kyle his home address was quite possibly the stupidest decision he’s ever made in his life.

He borrows Patty’s worried face. “You guys were dropped?” Auston asks.

“Yeah, something about confounds.” Patty honks at the staff festering around the gated entrance. For a split second, Auston thinks they’re not going to be let out, but the crowd thins relatively quickly under the threat of being run over. “I knew you were better off there so I didn’t want to fight it.”

“I missed you.”

Patty reaches across the console and squeezes his shoulder. “I missed you too. Worse comes to worst, you can come stay with us. You know how much the kids love you.”

“You sure Christina will let me in after all those raunchy photos I took for Playboy?”

Patty drops one hand from the wheel, flexing the other. “That--well, I didn’t look out of respect but I’m sure she’ll have something to say about it. I don’t think there will be anything but laughter there though.”

And that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auston is love-bombed into a position at the mansion and is lied to about his field of work and work requirements by his boss. He signs a contract not completely aware of what's being asked of him. His best friend consistently lies about his commitment to their friendship and leads him on in order to get him to do things he's uncomfortable with. Although they have consensual sex, it's filmed which the main character only partially consents to. There's mention about coercion with another character who is terminated for speaking out about injustice to the public. The boss character threatens to ruin the social network and career of his employee when he tries to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too graphic except for some evidence of Kyle grooming Auston into taking on a position he's initially reluctant about. Auston obeys both out of some moral obligation but also a crush on Mitch.
> 
> So Playboy ended up cancelling their nude magazine subscriptions because they cannot compete with online pornography. All of their clubs closed save for one that's been revamped in 2018 and remains open to this day. Camming isn't an active practice of Playboy at the moment but a subsection of model companies are jumping on the bandwagon because it's become very profitable. Seeing as how it's only a matter of time at this point, I thought I'd blend them together. Yippie ki yay.
> 
> come chat with me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr!


End file.
